


Make It Real

by nezkah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Conflict, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, New Relationship, Sexual Tension, Smut, eventual many things, see author's notes for more info
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 132,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezkah/pseuds/nezkah
Summary: Things with Satya ended better than Jamison would have ever expected in the late-night quiet of Gibraltar’s kitchen, but a kiss isn’t a relationship, and two months of flirting and sexual tension aren’t the reality of what it means to be with someone.
Events beginning immediately after the end of Give Me A Try.





	1. Chapter 1

Funny how a kiss could change everything.

First King’s Row, part experiment and part curiosity, dim lamplight on cobblestone and heavy air and the smell of smoke and powder.  Then the kitchen at Gibraltar, three in the morning, slow and calm and certain.  Once she could have dismissed as simple interest.  Twice was no coincidence.  Two tectonic shifts, one setting into motion the inevitability of the other.  She should have seen it coming.  She didn’t mind that she hadn’t.

After Satya’s falling out with Vishkar, Jamison’s kidnapping, and the rescue all in the span of less than a week, the idea of ‘normal’ no longer felt as though it applied, and so although there was something terrifying and thrilling about the late-night kiss interrupted by the whine of a tea kettle it had felt oddly fitting as well.

She had helped him make the rest of the boba tea, half sweet.  Jamison at the stove, herself beside him, standing closer than she would have minutes before.  It had been so mundane and yet it had felt exciting and new, the lateness of the hour and their mutual exhaustion lending it a dreamlike air, his prosthetic fingers fiddling idly with a spoon as it hovered over small bowls of tapioca balls and sugar, the motions languid and relaxed.  A small, crooked smile on his features when she glanced at him, eyes half-lidded as he worked, focused on the tea, and the slightest glimpse of a gold tooth at the corner of his mouth.  Bruised skin, dark circles under his eyes, and a sling awkward over his shoulder.  Not a definition of perfect that she would ever have chosen to use, and yet it felt like it was.

The self-contradictory memory, the hazy and soft edge of it there despite the clarity, ended with Jamison leaning against the doorframe of her quarters with the elbow of his prosthetic arm resting high on the doorframe and that same tired grin on his face that somehow managed to look pleased all the same.

She didn’t kiss him again.  Sleep was calling and she had the vague concern that she would have too much trouble stopping.  The word was simple but heavy when it finally came from her in a quiet murmur.

“Goodnight.”

He answered languidly, his tongue moving slowly over the words as if he were trying to hold onto the taste of them.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes.”  The answer didn’t seem quite like enough, and she stared at him for a moment longer, his eyes on her own, before her lips parted and she added, “Absolutely.”

She wasn’t entirely ready for the way he looked.  Content, strangely enough, but with an undercurrent of giddiness, however muted by how tired he appeared to be.  He stood for a moment longer, watching her with a satisfied little grin before pushing reluctantly off of the doorframe and moving back a step or two into the dimmed light of the empty, late-night hallway and she took the place he had vacated, her arms crossing over her chest as her hip fell against the corner so that she could watch him go, needing a moment to accommodate her thoughts but not quite able to do so while he was still there.

He lifted his prosthetic arm in a wave, a single motion with widely-splayed fingers, and continued moving backwards as if he were loath to look away.

“G’night.”

Despite the simplicity of them the words weren’t in her, and so her reply was simply a faint smile.  He didn’t seem to mind.  His hand dropped with a small grin of his own and he turned to make his way down the corridor, managing to look back only when he had to turn the corner.  And then he was gone.

She stayed there for a moment, allowing her eyes to slip closed as she took a long, slow breath, following it with a deep sigh.  Everything felt as though it had happened so fast and then had become so slow, the time electrified with a hidden current even as it had slipped into something comfortable and almost familiar.  It was enough to put her off-balance.  It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, but she was used to being in control, and perhaps it was only out of habit but anything else felt dangerous. 

But this was distinctly different in a way she felt unacquainted with.  Off-kilter yes, but somehow not disagreeable.  Exhilarating.  It was new and a little bit alarming, but it was far too much to think about so late at night, and so she opened her eyes and stepped back into her quarters, lifting a hand to gently close the door behind her.  Those thoughts would have to wait.  For the time being sleep was in order.

 

* * *

 

 

Jamison spent the remainder of the night staring dazedly up into the darkness toward the ceiling, a small, uneven smile occasionally curling his lips, falling flat with exhaustion, and rising from the dead again thanks to recent memories.  Sometimes his mind had a habit of revisiting things over and over, sometimes less-than-pleasant things, often plans and diagrams that took over his thoughts and wouldn’t leave even if he wanted them to.  He didn’t usually mind those, though.  Those were good to work with, at least, if a little annoying sometimes.  But this time it was all nice, for once.

Maybe he fell asleep at some point.  It was hard to tell.  But once sunlight started filtering insistently through the fabric of the makeshift curtain he’d hung over his window to try to keep the light out he figured he might as well get up.  It wasn’t like he’d be getting any more rest anyway.  And it was his best chance of running into Satya again.  Couldn’t beat that.

The prosthetic raised over his head as he extended his body in a long, lazy stretch, the metal fingers still splaying and reaching upward to their highest extreme as if they were natural, organic things, as if he could still feel it in the pulleys, and sometimes he thought maybe he could.  He yawned, reveling for a moment in the way it felt in his jaw before slumping back against the mattress. 

Having to interact with people was a chore he wasn’t looking forward to.  He’d rather spend time with the good thoughts while they lasted, and besides, he was pretty sure he’d have to come up with answers for the past two days—after what he’d thought was a disastrous conversation with Satya.  After he’d told her how he felt and after she’d run off.  Something he only realized he’d misunderstood hours ago.  Days spent alone in his room, drifting somewhere between being asleep and being awake.  Drowning sometimes, it felt like, until it started to feel like nothing at all.  He hadn’t necessarily liked that part better, but it was definitely easier.  The weird haze of the morning was the best so far, though. ~~~~

He pulled himself off of the mattress like the rising dead with a low groan and a somewhat unstable stagger, giving the prosthetic leg a shake as if to work the stiffness out of it and stretched again, the movement sending satisfying cracks down the length of his spine.  Clean clothes were probably a thing he should do and the thought struck him that he should probably shower as well, however unenthused he was about the idea.  His lips tugged downward at their corners and he lifted the prosthetic hand to carefully press fingers against his scalp, scratching gingerly lest he get his hair caught in any of the seams.  Yeah.  Definitely a shower, if he wanted to be presentable anyway.  It wasn’t usually a top priority but it seemed important for some reason.  Carrying all of his things was awkward with his left arm in a sling but he managed, slipping out the door even if he figured it’d be something he’d regret.

He wasn’t necessarily wrong.

He’d barely made it out of his quarters before Lena appeared in the hallway, seeming to simply blink into existence right in front of him.  There wasn’t time to do anything but stare blearily at her before her voice pierced his ears, surprised, bubbly, and pleasant in a way that forced his lips to twist upward in an automatic but tired grin and he crushed a wince at the volume of it before it managed to reach his face.

She actually gasped at the sight of him.

“Jamison!  Oh, you’re in trouble.  Angela’s been trying to find you for two days.  Are you alright?  You look _terrible_.”

He tried to hold back the yawn but failed, a quiet snort following after as he managed to pull together words, the prosthetic arm lifting to rub gently at the back of his neck, jostling the bag looped over his shoulder.  Sounding nice was an effort but he went the extra mile to sound upbeat and he wasn’t sure if it worked but it seemed worth trying.  Lena always seemed to mean well.  He liked her for it.

“G’mornin’ to you too.”  The metal hand shifted to scratch at the bottom of his chin carefully, teeth pressed together in something that wasn’t quite a cringe at her comment but looked as if it could become one at any moment and he offered her a counter with a sardonic little grin.  “Just tired.  Wasn’t really tryin’ to win a beauty pageant.”  A faint giggle bubbled up in his throat before dying from on his lips from fatigue.

The woman cocked her hip abruptly to the side and rested a hand on it as she smirked at him with a subtle shake of her head, her eyebrows raised in what seemed like genuine apology.  “Sorry, love.  It’s just that we were all worried about you.”

He did cringe then.  It was still weird and a little uncomfortable, the little things they all said sometimes that seemed an awful lot like they _cared_ about him always felt awkward and a little suspicious.  Even after a solid two months of their expressions of concern for his well-being—or at least him recognizing it—he still wasn’t sure what to do with it so he shifted his weight uneasily as his eyes drifted off to the side and he tried to twist his features into an appreciative grin.  He had the distinct feeling it didn’t quite work. 

“I’m a’right, honest.  No worries.”

Her entire body lifted and fell with the breath that seemed to be an even mix of satisfaction and relief and he eyed her curiously throughout it, trying to blink his thoughts away as she went on.

“Good.  You should probably report to Angela as soon as you can, though.  I think she’s angry with you.”  The small woman leaned in closer, having to look upward at a severe angle to watch him in a way that seemed warning.  “Rightfully so, too.”

The groan was low and loud and sounded exasperated but he reeled it in as best he could to end it abruptly, his shoulders slumping as the sound left him.  He couldn’t help the grudging tone in his voice, couldn’t stop it if he tried.

“A’right, a’right, I’m on me way right now.”

She held the stare for a long moment and it made him shift his weight restlessly.  She wasn’t intimidating exactly but he felt something weird from it all the same and her smile was broad and beaming when it spread suddenly across her features and she leaned away, bouncing on her toes.

“Good.  And then come to breakfast!  We’ll make sure you get you some tucker.” 

A quiet ‘oof’ slipped from him as she swung a fist lightly to hit the tattoo on his arm in something that seemed almost affectionate and before the tentative, awkward grin on his face could get any strength she was bounding down the hallway, calling out before zipping away.

“Ta-ta for now!”

He stood there for a moment watching the empty corridor where she had disappeared before giving his head an abrupt shake to clear it.  Time to go see Angela.  He wasn’t looking forward to it but he’d promised, after all.  And besides, he was hungrier than he’d thought.  So he shifted his weight onto the peg-leg and turned his foot toward the medical bay, starting toward it with another wide yawn. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was about as bad as he expected.  Angela was angrier than he’d thought she would be, in a way he had never seen.  He could tell by the brisk way she talked, rushed but not just for the sake of efficiency, not the way she sometimes got when they were out on missions.  The reprimanding started immediately and didn’t stop even as she pushed him onto the edge of a bed and went to work, her hands moving quickly over the cast on his arm before propping it up on some kind of stand, a piece of equipment he recognized but still didn’t know the function of and wasn’t sure he’d understand even if she decided to explain it to him.  Her voice was clipped and irritated but still somehow managed to have a soft edge to it.  Another mystery.

“You are supposed to get this treatment once per day so that you heal at an optimal rate.  When I told you to rest I didn’t mean become a recluse and disappear for two days.” 

His lips pulled back in a cringe as the fingers of his prosthetic hand tapped delicately and uneasily against the edge of the bed, the sound of it dulled by the soft fabric of the sheets.  It was that concern again.  And weirdly, a sort of disappointment.  Worse than the concern.

The emotion seemed like it bled out slowly as she went on and settled into something that just sounded tired.  “We were all worried about you.”

It was the same thing Lena had said.

“Sorry, Doc.”  There was genuine contrition there and he figured it probably made it to his voice.  He didn’t think he could’ve changed it but he was sorry all the same.  It was all he could manage, but the words were sheepish enough that Angela gave in with a tired sigh and she went on with a softer tone that was a little less businesslike than usual.

“It isn’t simply the physical aspect of it.  I’m certain it was a very traumatic experience.  That can have significant impact both mentally and emotionally as well.”

She flicked a switch forward and a sudden, cool white stream of whatever it was her medical technology used shot up through the length of his broken arm, the sensation beginning in his fingers where the beam of light began and creeping up his forearm in a way that, for a brief moment, made his skin crawl.  He never was sure how the stuff worked but it was enough to distract him entirely from his thoughts for a second.  They crept back eventually.  He hadn’t really thought about whatever it was she was talking about so he repeated the words he’d given to Lena, hoping it would work just as well on Angela.

“I’m a’right Doc, honest.”  She looked away from her medical instruments toward him and he could tell she wasn’t convinced so he fixed her with a crooked grin that he felt, certain it would make it more believable.  “It ain’t like it’s the first time I been roughed up a bit.”

“That is precisely my concern.”  A gentle furrow had found its place on her brow as she watched him and he squinted, still confused by it.  But she seemed satisfied enough with the line of thought because she moved away from his arm to stand in front of him instead, her fingers pressing gently against areas of his skin, apparently looking for additional damage, testing the bruises and the bones beneath.  The distraction eased her features and the automatic nature of all of it made his mind feel a little quieter too, let it drift to other things. 

“At any rate we won’t be letting it happen again.  Are you feeling any better?”

The question dragged him back with a twitch and he looked at her for a second, trying to piece together what she’d said.  When he did the memory of the previous night rushed back a little too fast and his voice chased after it, sounding abrupt and awkward and revealingly enthusiastic.

“Yeah!  Yeah.”  A quiet giggle welled up in his throat before he forcibly strangled it between clenched teeth, managing to turn the look into a toothy smile that was still a little too transparent.  His tongue didn’t do much to help and went on without considering the implication.  A bad habit, or maybe a good one depending on who it was directed towards.  “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” 

The words hung there for a moment.  He hesitated, weighing the idea of saying more.  It was surprising how strong the urge was to tell her, to mention Satya—to tell anyone, he suddenly realized—but he shoved it down.  It didn’t seem like it was right for some reason.  But the thought of it made the words trail off, dying between teeth bared in a wide, easy, comfortable grin.  It felt for a second like an electric buzz running through him and he lost focus entirely.

Satya would probably be at breakfast.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he saw her.  Should he do something different?  Say anything?  Probably not.  Should probably just play it cool.

Angela gave him a strange look, an appraising one, lingering over the grin for a moment before returning to the dark circles under his eyes.  He failed entirely to notice.

“I can see that.”

Her tone brought his attention back to her and he sat up a little straighter with a look that tried hard to push the guilt out of the way in order to be even marginally convincing.  He wasn’t sure how true it was but he said it anyway.

“I’ll get some tonight.  Promise.”

“Thank you.  And then we will have to get that tooth replaced.”

He winced at that and for a moment his tongue lifted to prod thoughtfully at the empty space.  He knew he shouldn’t have wiggled it so much, loosened it enough for it to come out, but it had been a good distraction at the time even if it hurt.  The absence had already started to feel almost natural.

“You sure we have to?”

Angela sounded incredulous and wearily patient as she sighed and he had the thought that by the time they were done she might not have any breath left in her at all.  There was a weird satisfaction to it that made his lips turn up at their corners and the faintest giggle well up in him as she looked at him, and he fixed her with his most charming gap-toothed grin in the hopes that she might reconsider.

“Yes, Jamison.  We have to.” 

 

* * *

 

 

He should have known breakfast would be a veritable minefield when he walked into the room and found nearly everyone there save for Winston—who must have been off working on something like he often was—and Angela, who was still at the med bay.

Satya was there, sitting next to Torbjörn and Reinhardt.  She looked up when he came in and met his eyes for just a second and he was absolutely sure there was a smile there.  One of the little ones, like when she was trying not to let anyone see.  He was starting to think those might be his favorite.  His own was much more obvious and his eyes dodged quickly away after hers calmly did the same.

Roadhog was there and Jamison got the feeling that he’d seen everything.  Not just seen it, but seen it for what it was.  Jamison never was sure how he could tell what was going on behind the mask, but he usually could.  Something about the way Roadhog tipped his head or something in his shoulders.  Never could put his finger on it.  Regardless it drew an awkward and uneasy laugh from him, directed toward no one in particular.

The urge to force his way into a seat next to Satya was strong enough that he had to grit his teeth against it and he dropped abruptly to the seat beside Roadhog instead, staring down at the tabletop for a moment to get his thoughts together before he raised his head to find the larger Junker looking at him strangely from under the mask.  He tried a tentative grin.  It felt weird, like he was hiding something and like Roadhog knew.

“Mornin’.”

The larger man grunted quietly and didn’t offer anything else and Jamison shuffled restlessly where he sat for a moment before clearing his throat and glancing up toward the others.  Satya, Reinhardt, Lena, and Torbjörn.  And a woman he didn’t know.  He stared at her blankly but couldn’t come up with any memory of her and while he was distracted Reinhardt walked up behind him and clapped a hand heartily on his shoulder suddenly enough to make him jump.  He’d vacated the seat next to Satya.  Bugger it.

“It is good to see you, friend!”

His voice was so _loud_ and Jamison had trouble processing it for a moment, cringing from the volume.  But it was nice he guessed, or at least it was meant nicely.  He tried to use the same enthusiastic tone, if a little less deafening.

“G’day.”

“Are you doing well?”

He didn’t have time to answer.  He’d missed her even leaving, but Lena appeared suddenly with a plate and slid it across the table in front of him before she giggled and sat down, leaning forward, resting her elbow against the surface and cupping her chin in her hand.  Sat down next to Satya in the seat Reinhardt had just left.  _Bugger_ it.

“Reinhardt, you’re crushing him.”

The large man withdrew his hand and rested it on his own hip instead before continuing on with his usual gusto.  “Sorry, Jamison.”

“It’s a’right.”

A fork was in his hand before he even realized it, appearing sometime he wasn’t sure when, and rather than eating with it his metal fingers fidgeted, shifting the thing between them as he tried to focus on all of them at once.  The mystery woman stood out and he looked at her with one gently narrowed eye. 

“Who’sis?”

“Oh!”  Reinhardt gestured broadly toward the woman and answered in in the jovial way he always seemed to.  “This is Brigitte.  My friend and armorer.  She’ll be staying with us on base.  There was some questionable activity, so we wanted to bring her somewhere she would be safe.”

The woman offered a polite hello and Jamison blinked before nodding in return.  It felt like it answered the question without actually answering it, like he was missing something, but he shrugged the thought away as Torbjörn’s voice cut in.

“How’s the arm?”

“Oh.  Can’t complain, considerin’.  Doc did some kinda thing with that light beam of hers.  Always feels funny but does the job I guess.”

“How long ‘til it’s healed?”

“Dunno.  A couple ‘a weeks maybe?”  The truth was he hadn’t paid attention when she’d talked about it.  It was all mixed in with a jumble of words and he’d lost track of what she was saying.

“You might be fit in time to go on a mission, then.”

“Yeah?  Somethin’ special?”

Torbjörn nodded.  “That bounty hunter Satya caught.  He’s been singin’ like a canary.  Fareeha’s holding him at Helix International and apparently he’s being very cooperative.”

Satya.  Right.  The mention of her brought his attention back to her and left him staring blatantly obviously across the table.

“We’ve still got some recon to do.  Maybe a month or so.  He said something about an American, probably the one who…”

The fork in Jamison’s hand began a quiet but incessant tapping against the table as Torbjörn’s voice drifted off.  The words came through in patches before they stopped coming through at all and he gave up attempting to listen.  He only noticed when all of the sounds abruptly stopped.

He looked down at his prosthetic hand and suddenly realized it was empty.  A glance to the side showed the fork resting between Roadhog’s large fingers instead.  He’d taken it at some point.  Jamison shot him an irritated look, feeling mildly offended.

“How am I s’posed to eat, mate?”

Roadhog’s voice was low and deep and slow as always, but it was just as easy to pick out the annoyance in it even as the large man offered the fork back to him.  “If you’re gonna eat, eat.”

Jamison took it and stuffed some eggs sullenly in his mouth and went about the business of chewing unenthusiastically as he tried to regroup his thoughts and focus on what the others were saying.  Stuff about the mission they’d been on when he was taken, what they’d found.  It couldn’t keep his interest and they just kept _talking_.  His foot had started to bounce against the floor and his smile was beginning to feel too tight, like bared teeth.  He gave up on the eggs and settled back, resting his hand on the seat beside himself as he tried a more casual posture.

All he wanted to do was talk to Satya.  Without all of them there.  Or sit next to her.  Or anything, really.  In the light of day the previous night felt like it left a lot in a weird sort of limbo, like it might’ve just been a dream, and it felt like it was killing him not to know where he was.  Even just small talk would’ve been fine. 

Someone had said something to him and he tried to strangle the noise of frustration that welled up in him out of existence.  It felt like it was obvious but he couldn’t be sure, but he _was_ sure it wasn’t helped by the way his jaw clenched in his best effort of mimicking a smile, by the way an unsteady laugh bubbled up from his throat and seethed through his teeth, a nervous thing intended to hide it but likely making it worse, too tense and a bit too loud.

A faint sensation tugged on his mind, barely noticeable, a subtle pressure against the fingers of his prosthetic hand where it sat on the seat of the bench and he dropped his chin just enough to look down.  The pinky finger of Satya’s gauntlet was looped neatly around his own, the white of the hard-light prosthetic curled, flush against the orange metal.  He stared at it for a long moment, insensate to the conversation happening around him, and only eventually raised his eyes to glance at her under a deeply furrowed brow.  She was looking directly at Torbjörn, her attention seemingly fully on the conversation, but as his eyes hesitated on her he felt her fingers flex more tightly against his for just a brief moment before relaxing once again.

His own motions were tentative as he lifted his head to stare forward at Torbjörn as he spoke.  He took a deep breath and released it all in one go, taking a second to take stock of the situation.  The conversation was still going on like nobody had noticed anything strange and he slowly, hesitantly, extended metal fingers, reached, searched carefully for a grip on hers, and though he couldn’t find a way to send the message soon enough their fingers were woven together, alternating against one-another and held in a loose, comfortable grip.

He wasn’t even sure when she’d moved seats.

Everything felt like it suddenly snapped back into focus.  Despite the steady sound of Torbjörn’s voice it seemed quieter somehow, more clear as it drifted back into his consciousness, and he released a long, quiet breath of air.  It felt like his first full breath since he had entered the mess hall.

“… so as long your arm is better Angela will likely let you come along.  It’ll be good to have you back.”

He’d missed most of it but he figured the important parts were there.  A big mission in a couple of weeks or so, as long as he didn’t miss any more of his treatment sessions with Angela.  Satya’s fingers woven in between his.  He wasn’t even entirely sure who he was talking to when he spoke.

“Right.  Behave meself, then.”

Lena used the lull in the conversation to get to her feet, bouncing a bit with the motion.  “Speaking of missions, though, we’ve got that one tomorrow that we still need to prep for.  Satya, would you mind helping me out, love?  Winston made some adjustments to the chronal accelerator and I need to make sure it’s working at top efficiency.”

Satya was already withdrawing her hand, had begun the moment Lena stood up, a subtle motion that he knew no one would notice.  She was so _good_ at stuff like that.  He tried a covert, sidelong glance toward Satya as he pulled his own hand reluctantly back to himself again, fingers finding the fork and holding onto it idly, the digits fidgeting but quieter, calmer.

“I would be glad to.”

It wasn’t that bad, watching her get up to leave, and he felt like he could actually hide it by finding reasons to glance toward the others, keeping Satya in his peripheral vision.  His head felt lighter at any rate and when the others issued Satya and Lena their goodbyes he did so as well, lifting his fingers in a brief wave, offering a crooked smile, eyes bright.  He’d just find her later.  The base wasn’t _that_ big, after all.

  

* * *

 

 

 Jamison hadn’t ever noticed just how busy the place was or how much time he spent with other people until he didn’t want to anymore.  The base was starting to feel a lot smaller.  Too small.

He’d showered—wasted time, he reckoned—but it had given him time to come up with a plan: grab some mines, find Satya in the training yard, make some casual excuse to meet her in the workshop.  The place was always a good option.  Not only was it usually empty except for him and Roadhog but they’d both have good reason to be there.  It was sort of a _thing_ at that point.  But when he went to the workshop to collect his things the new woman, Brigitte, was there, moving into a spot with Reinhardt’s help.

“Jamison!  Hello!  We are just setting up Brigitte’s equipment.  I’m afraid the space is smaller than we thought.  Do you mind if we rearrange some of your things?”

Jamison was left standing in the doorway undecided for a moment before offering them a grunt, realizing it wasn’t very polite, and following it up with a not entirely convincing grin.

“Nah, mate.  ‘S fine.”

She may have noticed, because Brigitte addressed him, gracious and apologetic.  “I don’t plan to move much.  You have a nice setup as it is.”

It turned his grin a little more awkward as he tried to navigate her tone and he twitched, making his way toward his workbench.

“Honest, it’s fine.  No worries.”

Having Reinhardt in the room wasn’t exactly good for stealth and it didn’t seem like either he or Brigitte them would be leaving anytime soon so he swiped some mines and tossed them into a bag anyway before backing toward the door with a wave to excuse himself.  Maybe he could just meet Satya in the training yard.  Maybe half of the plan would work, anyway.

When he got to the training yard not only was Satya not there but Lena still was.  He could see her immediately; the way she zipped between training bots was hard to miss and she laughed when she saw him before offering a silent hello in the form of a wave.  Some of Satya’s turrets were there.  If he managed to find Satya and get her there even while distracted there was no way Lena would miss the two of them.  Cross another one off the list.

He took a second to set off a couple of mines in the yard adjacent to where Lena was training to make himself feel better.  It did help, a little.

He was quickly running out of options even if he did manage to find her.  The only place that seemed like a decent place to talk was either of their quarters but that definitely wasn’t inconspicuous and besides, the corridors were crawling with people getting ready for the next day, so even if they did manage to get into a room unseen there was pretty significant risk of getting caught when one of them was leaving.

… more than talking wouldn’t be bad either, but that seemed like it was probably off the table until things quieted down. 

He found her in the hangar finally, packing up supplies, and at that point it wasn’t surprising to find someone else there.  Torbjörn was moving scrap and parts and turret components from the hangar to the drop ship, but he had to leave sometime, and maybe Jamison would still be able to get a word in while he was out of sight.  It would have to be good enough.  A couple of stiff words of greeting, a quick, awkward question, and he was helping move supplies around as well as he could.

And he didn’t mind _so_ much… Satya seemed happy enough to see him nonetheless and she’d smiled when he’d offered to help.  And he got to watch her every once in a while, short, hidden glances.  He noticed new things, little things, things he was having trouble processing for more than one reason.  Tucking her hair behind her ear more carefully, more slowly.  Walking in a way that somehow seemed more relaxed.  Wearing her lips coiled upwards in a faint smirk, an occasional subtle smile for no apparent reason at all.

He couldn’t _not_ notice.  He knew he liked it, at any rate.

Moving supplies was awkward with only one hand but he was managing alright, and it was going fast enough that he was worried that they’d run out of things to move before he’d even get the chance to talk to her.  Before they ran out of a good excuse to be in the same room as each other.  Torbjörn was frustratingly present until he abruptly dropped a large bag of scrap in the drop ship with a grunt, moved back down the ramp, and started toward the door.

Jamison was crouched down near the floor collecting a duffel bag and stared at him the entire way until he disappeared into the hallway.  He was still in a state of mild, anticipatory shock when a bolt of gentle blue moved slowly past as Satya walked by.

He couldn’t hold himself back and his hand lifted to drift down the hem of her uniform as it moved within reach, passing gently along the long fabric, the strip of blue slipping neatly between his prosthetic fingers, and when she paused to look back at him he blinked, wide-eyed as if surprised with himself, and looked quickly away.  She’d had a look on her face, an eyebrow raised inquisitively, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or not.  His voice defaulted to something vaguely apologetic, cautiously optimistic. 

“Sorry.”

He looked back and she hadn’t moved save for the way her hip was cocked to the side, still looking at him in that appraising way, expectant, like she was asking a question that he didn’t understand and probably wouldn’t have had a great answer for anyway.  He cleared his throat as he stood up abruptly, getting awkwardly to his feet, too rushed.  He’d forgotten the duffel bag.  But he went with the first thing that drifted into his mind and had the brief, uncomfortable thought that it wasn’t entirely untrue.  

“Just wanted to make sure you were real, after last night an’ all.  Thought I might be dreamin’.”

The prosthetic arm raised to rub at the back of his neck instead, the rubber pads on the tips of his fingers suddenly a bit rough against his skin.  The statement had begun to feel a little too genuine, too revealing and vulnerable, so he changed the angle of his lips, curling them upwards to give himself a more crooked, roguish grin.

Her eyes flitted over his features and narrowed gently as her lips parted in something that looked like it could become a smile if she gave it a chance.

“Are you trying to be charming?”  The words weren’t unkind but they were obviously both amused and mystified, and she was looking at him like she was trying to pick out some kind of hidden secret.  It didn’t feel like there was much option but to go with it and he squinted back at her with his own exaggerated expression of assessment.

“Depends… ‘s it workin’?”

Her lips curled upward subtly as a low chuckle escaped her and she paused, casting a quick glance over her shoulder toward the door, simultaneously shifting her weight on her feet, turning her body toward his and taking a step closer before her eyes returned to him and gave him a once-over that forced him to take a deep breath as he stared back at her expectantly, waiting.

“Perhaps.”

“That ain’t a ‘no’.”  The grin on his features widened and turned a bit sly and self-satisfied, all teeth in an expression that felt natural, like he had his feet under himself again.  She crossed her arms slowly over her chest and went on, looking up at him from under her lashes with something crafty in her that under other circumstances might be disconcerting.

“And what would you have done if I had said no?”

“Tried harder, I guess.”

An eyebrow raised in a high arc as she tipped her chin upwards to better look at him.  “I’m very curious as to what that might entail.”

“Blow somethin’ up for you, maybe?”

“… blow something up.”  The words were dry and the look on her face was skeptical and he bit his lip for a moment, teeth pressed against his skin to keep the grin under control and to hold his tongue until he could find a decent justification.  He didn’t have much luck.

“Yeah.”

“You do that literally every day.”

He tipped his head to the side and leaned in a bit closer with eyes half-lidded as he tried to find a way to sweeten the deal.

“Somethin’ _special_.  And _you_ could blow it up instead.”

She paused and lowered her gaze to the side, evasive for a moment as her arms unfurled from their place across her chest and the right one drifted, touching lightly at the fabric of her hip, a strange circular indent faintly visible for a brief moment as the fabric was pulled taut over it.  As if there were something in her pocket.  He tipped his head to the side curiously, not quite sure of the meaning of it, but didn’t have much time to consider it as she slowly moved, resuming her former pose, her arms resting more lightly against one-another as she looked back to him.  He could’ve sworn there was something fond in the tone.

“That still seems more than a little self-serving.”

He rolled a shrug over his shoulders to try to keep the guilt off of them and did his best impression of an innocent smile.

“Just tryin’ to think of things within my area of expertise.”

“Surely you have other talents you could put to use.”

He couldn’t help the laugh, the almost bashful lowering of his head as he looked at her from under his eyebrows.  It was too easy and she knew it, he was sure.  Setting him up for a line she expected would be coming, intentional, not like she’d ever done before.  It was a strange feeling.  A good one. 

“I might.”

The way she looked at him should have been unnerving.  It was so _steady_.  But he was surprised to realize that he liked it.  Sorta like she’d taken all of him in and was still standing there anyway.

“I could show you, sometime.”  It was suggestive but somehow without the usual bite and he laughed again, a quiet giggle between grinning teeth, and ducked his head to look at his fingers fidgeting against one-another as he let himself lean a bit to the side where his prosthetic arm caught the edge of a stack of crates.  He put his weight on it to angle his body gently towards hers, his shoulders relaxing with the pose, and after a thoughtful moment he raised his eyes back to her, his tone dropping something a little lower and quiet like if someone else was in the room and he didn’t want them to hear.

“Truth is I was hopin’ to get a chance to talk to ya but there’s too many bloody people on this rock.”

She sidled closer, her body moving so slowly he almost didn’t notice until she was directly in front of him, her hand lifting to trace the hem of his tanktop at the shoulder between her thumb and forefinger as if correcting the angle of the fabric and her eyes followed the movement, idle enough that he wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

It was harder to think with her being so close but also nice in a way, the way everything just sort of shut down and went quiet.  He could smell her shampoo in her hair, just as rich and deep as the color, and with her eyes on the fabric of his shirt he could examine them safely, oddly bright with warm, dark flecks of brown.

“It has felt uncharacteristically crowded.”  She paused and angled her chin to the most subtle of angles to glance towards the door, her voice still quiet and verging on a murmur.  “But you managed.” 

When her eyes turned back to them she looked as though she were searching his features for something and he cleared his throat gently to try to dispel the way his heartbeat had begun to jog, working on calming himself with a lower tone.

“Now that I got you here I guess I dunno what to say, really.”

She breathed a gentle, incredulous huff of air.  “A new problem, I think.”

“I’ve got a lot of new problems.”

He’d never dated before.  Didn’t even know how.  But he’d seen movies, and he was pretty sure he was supposed to do that kind of thing, or probably should have started a long time ago.  Dinner.  Trips to fancy places.  None of them were really viable options on a secluded mercenary base, and even though it wasn’t like they couldn’t visit more public areas nearby it was a little ill-advised, particularly given the recent attacks on the Overwatch team.

He wasn’t even sure if she’d like that sort of thing, although it seemed like she would enjoy going nice places so long as they weren’t too busy.  Places he wasn’t particularly convinced he would fit in.

But those were things to think about in the future.  In the meantime she was there, standing in front of him, toying with the fabric of his shirt and looking at him expectantly.  He started talking before he even really knew what was going to roll off his tongue.

“You wanna come over sometime?  I’d clean an’ everything.  You can have all the amenities _Chateau d’Fawkes ’_ s got to offer.”

“… Chateau d’Fawkes.”  Her eyes narrowed gently but her lips parted and the way they curved upwards grudgingly was immensely gratifying.  So he kept going, watching the change in her expression with rapt attention.

“I got a lamp.  A dresser.  Maybe some priceless artifacts tucked away somewhere, still.  Stacks an’ stacks of mines.”

“In your _room_?”

“They’re empty, mostly.”

He grinned evasively and hoped she couldn’t tell if he was kidding, and it may have worked given the way her lips had pressed together in a stubborn, thin line still turned subtly upwards at their corners that he viewed as a challenge.  He leaned in a bit closer.

“I got a real nice air vent.  ‘Course, that’s where I keep all me money.  Come to think of it, don’t tell anybody about that.”

Her teeth were on her lower lip, barely visible but there.

“Or we could watch a movie in the rec room and wait for Reinhardt to show up an’ talk over it.  Stuff’s like catnip for ‘im.  Once he starts talkin’ you gotta make up the dialogue for yourself.  Could be fun.”

Her eyes slipped closed for a moment as she released a quiet breath of air, her lips parting with it, curled ever so slightly in resignation.

“D’ya like barbeque?  I mean, probably not cows.  If that’s… I mean, I dunno if you do all that stuff.  Point is I’m an ace at barbequing.”

She nearly cut him off, and he would be worried were it not for the tone of it, incredulous and doing its best to seem displeased while utterly failing.  Her hand had released the strap of his shirt and come to rest her palm against his chest instead as if attempting to brace herself against the onslaught of words but her fingers curled gently against the fabric covering his skin until it wrinkled gently from the pressure of her fingertips.

“Stop.  Please.”

There were the dangerous tones of something near a chuckle in it and when she opened her eyes her features had already mutinied into something both grudgingly fond and amused and he grinned only wider with it, captivated by the expression as she spoke again.

“Not ‘cows’.”

The sound of footsteps and jangling metal barely pierced his consciousness, coming down the hallway slowly but surely and loud enough to give plenty of warning.  Torbjörn, naturally.  They didn’t have much time.  He was surprised they’d had as much as they did.

“That a yes?”

She glanced toward the door only briefly with a look of calculation before her eyes turned back to him, considering him for a moment before she replied.

“Perhaps.”

She moved forward before he could really get ready for it.  Her breath was warm and pleasant on his cheek—not quite a kiss, more of a brush of her lips against his skin—and closer to his lips than was safe; he’d been standing just slightly too tall to make it easy for her to reach and when he dropped his eyes she was on her tiptoes, watching him with an inquisitive smirk.

“I _am_ real, if you were still wondering.”

For a moment he thought maybe she knew how hard it was for him to believe it.  His own breath was a little too short, enough for her to notice, and he hoped she didn’t.  He twisted it into an awkward, nervous laugh and realized at some point he’d begun leaning closer, the tips of his prosthetic fingers pressed against the surface of the crate.  The footsteps were loud, each scuffing step sounding like it might be the first to breach the doorway.

He knew he looked a bit dazed when he said it and knew it was a risky provocation but did it all the same.

“Still not convinced.”

A finger hooked into the waistband of his shorts and she pulled him firmly but gently forwards toward her.  His breath caught as her eyes moved over him, staring into his own, lingering just briefly enough to notice on his lips, and ending at the place her finger was looped around the hem of his clothes, a thin sliver of warmth against his skin.  He wouldn’t have expected it to be enough, but it was.

The footsteps were too close and she went still, her eyes flicking toward the door gently narrowed in thought, lips parted as she looked back up to him with one quirked eyebrow in a tall and meaningful arch.

“I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”

The words had barely left her lips before she let him go abruptly and fixed him with a smile, all sudden innocence, and turned on her heel with a dismissive gesture to both him and the duffel bag.  She moved away quickly, casting a brief glance to him, calling over her shoulder in a tone that was suddenly cool and distant, something he might have believed if it weren’t for the smirk.

“You should load that onto the ship rather than simply standing there.”

He could hear the footsteps come to a stop as Torbjörn entered the room just soon enough to hear and he stared for a moment at Satya’s retreating form before turning his eyes moonishly towards the dwarf, still not fully composed.  The look he got from him was one of sympathy.

“What’d you do to deserve the cold shoulder?”

Jamison stopped, still a bit dumbfounded, and stared at him for a moment longer before finally processing it all.  His jaw snapped shut as he bent to loop the strap over his shoulder and stood, doing his best to shake the dazedness and sneaking a glance toward Satya.  It was a good excuse to keep his face pointed away from Torbjörn; he could feel the color on his cheeks and that would be harder to explain.

At the very least he sounded sufficiently mystified as to be convincing, albeit for different reasons, and his voice stayed low and quiet as he answered as if attempting to be cautious with his words.

“Dunno, mate.”

A snort came from the short man and he huffed a quiet laugh clearly meant to comfort.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it.  I’m sure she’ll come around on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m back. Hiiiiii. (also I have a [writing-centric tumblr](http://nez-does-things.tumblr.com/) now for all of this stuff, you can reach me there if you want)
> 
> Sorry if this one is a little slow, it’s mostly trying to re-establish where we’re at and set up some things for later so I don’t think it has a lot of ‘hook’ to it. Not a GREAT way to start a new fic but here we are.
> 
> So if you’re here from Give Me A Try, welcome back! If not, you don’t have to read it. There will be callbacks to it but they shouldn’t make it unreadable (I really really hope).
> 
> This is very much a ‘no guarantees’ kind of fic and probably pretty self-indulgente… unlike GMAT I don’t have as much of a structured story I wanted to do and even that one was pretty fly by the seat of my pants for like the first 10 chapters, and also I tend to have energy issues so I have no idea how long I can keep it up but there are some things I’m really excited to explore and have already written stuff for.
> 
> **If you want to keep reading expect:**  
>  Fluff (obviously)  
> Hurt/Comfort (EXCITED FOR THIS)  
> New relationship/Developing relationship/Established relationship stuff  
> Conflict (nothing too bad I promise)  
> A little more interaction with other teammates probably because let’s be real that was kind of lacking for certain ones in GMAT  
> Smut (I cannot guarantee this but like… I already have a lot written so……….) and along that line sexual tension  
> probably a lot of other stuff I can’t remember right now
> 
> Probably a lot like GMAT I’m betting it will be a mix of chapters/sections that actually drive the story along and things that are just for fun like little vignettes and stuff but everything should be in chronological order. I don’t know if I will be revisiting the established, over-arching plot of GMAT to be honest but we’ll see. I’m not sure how much action/adventure I’ll be including (I know there will be some but if you’re just here for that…) but we’ll see.
> 
> This is a huge author’s note but idk I wanted people to know what’s going on.
> 
> Oh right and the song for this one is probably [Avalanche by Walk The Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ECBhz_1AaSM) just because I like it a lot/listened to it a lot for this one.  
> The title is from [Make It Real by Vista Kicks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rdid221UROw).
> 
> Love you, thanks for reading, wouldn’t be here without you guys.
> 
> OH. And you can find me on tumblr at [nez-does-things](http://nez-does-things.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Missions had been going smoothly enough despite Jamison’s absence and their concerns about possible ambush; shipment escorts, drug ring crackdowns, seizing illegal weapons.  One problem remained, however: Jamison’s missing tooth.

There was no opportunity to replace it until the next supply run.  Despite Angela’s considerable medical talents it was better that dentistry be handled by a specialist, and besides, they didn’t have the materials on base necessary to craft him a new tooth, particularly the kind he wanted.  Jamison and Roadhog aside, the Overwatch team didn’t keep much gold on hand.

Despite it being little more than a standard purchase and transport of supplies they had decided extra manpower was the best course of action for all Overwatch business, and so along with Jamison—who was only there to get his tooth replaced—and Roadhog—who was primarily coming along to keep an eye on Jamison—Satya, Reinhardt, Angela, and Lena were going as well while Winston dealt with a few diplomatic concerns in town.

They left Jamison and Roadhog at the dentist’s, picked up the supplies, and with Reinhardt staying behind to watch over the transport ship Satya, Angela, and Lena went about the task of collecting the Junkers.

Jamison was awake by the time they arrived but groggy, unfocused and dazed from the lingering effects of the anesthesia.  Lena attended to the payment arrangements and the procedure for checking him out of the facility.  Angela moved immediately toward him as soon as he was within view, intent on checking in on him, unable not to be interested in his medical condition.  It was amusing in a way, and comforting, although Satya wondered sometimes if it was something she was even capable of turning off.  She suspected not.

He was sitting upright in a chair but looked a bit unsteady even so; every so often he would tip to the side a bit too far for him to right himself and Roadhog’s hand would abruptly catch one of his shoulders and correct him.  His half-lidded stare at the ground was occasionally punctuated by quiet, light giggles, apparently at some inner thought, and as they approached he raised his eyes quickly, the grin abruptly bursting to something wider, if still looking a little bit disoriented.

“Satya!”  He attempted to get up but was pushed insistently back down into the chair by Roadhog and he turned a blearily offended look to the man but sat obediently, solid in the seat from the weight on his shoulder.  Roadhog turned his head toward the two of them and lowered his chin with a grunt of acknowledgment.  Jamison apparently had different ideas of the best way to address their presence.

“Oi!  Satya!” 

The volume of it was enough to prompt a glance from a nearby nurse.  Satya was looking at him, although apparently not doing so quite _enough_ given how insistently he seemed to be trying to get her attention.  She curled her arms slowly and carefully over her chest, one tucked across her torso and her opposite elbow resting atop it so that she could press curled fingers against her lips.  It wasn’t the best way to hide a smile, but it would have to do, and he went on as she did her best to collect herself.  It seemed to satisfy him enough that she had heard him, at least.

“What’re ya doin’ here?”  His surprise at seeing her was so incredibly genuine and the excitement in it gave her pause enough to force away the tone of amusement in her voice.

“Collecting you.  As was planned.”

The fact clearly didn’t ring a bell and he squinted lightly as his eyes drifted away from her, distracted by the thought.  “Huh.  Well ain’t that a nice surprise.”  His condition had brought out the drawl in his voice and he seemed to suddenly notice Angela’s presence, his eyes widening comically slowly as he pointed them toward her, Satya briefly forgotten.

“Roadie.”  His voice was clearly intended to be a whisper but it was far too loud, and he was speaking out of the side of his mouth as if attempting to be conspiratorial.  Roadhog turned his head towards him and grunted, which Jamison appeared to take as good indication to continue.

“It’s the Doc.  Am I hurt or somethin’?”

Angela took the opportunity to lean forward with a kind smile, fixing her eyes on Jamison to do a brief visual analysis.  Apparently she was satisfied, as she tipped her head lightly to the side and spoke to him in a pleasant, cheerful voice, crisp and soothing all at once.

“You’re quite well, Jamison, there’s no need to be concerned.  Let’s get you to your feet and see how well you can walk.”

At the suggestion Roadhog pushed himself up to stand and curled a large hand around Jamison’s upper arm to help pull him to his feet.  He was a bit off-kilter still, particularly with his left arm still in the sling, but took to it without too much trouble and his features had returned to that languid smile.  The new angle brought Lena into view and he blinked, standing up straight and glancing toward Roadhog again as if for guidance.

“Oooh, the fast one’s here too.  Whassername.”

The sigh from Roadhog was long and rumbling and he ended it impatiently.  “Lena.”

The woman cut in happily, not seeming to have minded the lapse in memory at all.  “Cheers, love!  Feeling alright?”

Jamison grinned and gave her a somewhat weak-looking thumbs-up, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he tried to find a word, seemingly any word, and came up blank.  “Wha’s that thing ya say?  Somethin’ about…”

His expression brightened as the words jogged his memory and he flung his arm upward in a gesture that was a bit too enthusiastic—for a moment he looked as though he might fall over, but Roadhog’s hand found his shoulder again and steadied him.  “The cavalry’s ‘ere!  Take me home, mates!”

Everything else aside she took a slow breath as she watched him with a thoughtful gaze, the smile forgotten for a moment as she considered him.

… home.

The word struck her hard and her eyes dropped downwards as she rolled the thought over in her head as if carefully examining it from all available angles.  It felt true.  Her place at Vishkar was gone, her struggles there completely unresolvable, but it wasn’t simply being displaced from the thing she had considered her home for the vast majority of her life.  It was something more.  Something big enough to make her feel warm.  She took an easier breath with it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lena’s voice bubbling out in a giggle.  “Alright, love, but try to stand still.”

Angela’s voice began to move fluidly in the background as she addressed Roadhog, asking a series of simple questions about the procedure, about Jamison’s state and recovery, and apparently Jamison saw their distraction as a good opportunity as he glanced between the two of them quickly before leaning in toward Satya, his left upper arm still held in Roadhog’s grip to keep him vertical.  His prosthetic hand found her shoulder.

“Satya.”  He leaned forward to stare at her with a look of urgency and spoke with a voice that seemed as if it was intended to be lower in volume but wasn’t quite managed.  His tone was dire, as though what he had to say was immensely important. 

“I think they put a tooth in me head.”

Her arm curled more tightly around her torso as she watched him, one eyebrow lofted gently upwards inquisitively and the hand still curled in a loose fist, still pressed against her lips to try to keep them from expressing too much.  The grip on her shoulder was light and not at all uncomfortable and she shifted her weight to one side of her hips, her shoulder lifting with it to accommodate his touch.  It seemed as though it would be cruel to laugh.  She did her best not to.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.  It’s this one right—”

She was too late to stop him.  Instinct had caused her to reach for his arm and pull it away from himself but he had already prodded at the new tooth with a metal finger and his eyes followed the digits as she pulled them away, focused on the metal fingertip with a look of betrayal as he winced with a softly-issued complaint.

“Ow…”

Angela’s attention was on them immediately, briefly, and the sigh that came from her was both tired and slightly anxious.  “For goodness’ sake, Jamison, don’t touch it.” 

“I was just showin’ Satya.”

“I think we can all see it.  Please, for your own good.”

“Sorry... just feels funny, is all.”

“I’m certain it does.”

His tongue curled, pressing gingerly against the thing before it drew a wince from him and he thought better of it.  Satya trained her voice to be firm but gentle, lowering her head to look up at him with a warning glance, both hands still coiled around his prosthetic arm.

“Leave it alone, Jamison.”

He stared back down at her and she watched his tongue hover closely to it, sitting there for a moment as if he were fighting the temptation before he finally withdrew it with visible effort. 

There was a pause, and for a moment he both looked and sounded rather lost, as if he were repeatedly losing track of his surroundings.  The idea likely wasn’t that far off, and he fixed her with a somewhat blank look as his mind shifted to another thought.  She engaged it happily, supposing if she could keep him distracted he might be more likely to let it be. 

“Is it shiny?”

“Yes.”

“It look alright?” 

“It looks fine.”

His tone had begun with an endearing excitement but started to change as the questions went on, gradually becoming more uncertain as he looked at her closely.  The expression was clearly something of concern and she watched it carefully as he continued, trying to keep track of the unexpected change. 

“It ain’t too much, is it?”

She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant and it took her a moment to reply as she fought to find the appropriate response to soothe his features.  She took a stab in the dark and hoped it would be sufficient.

“… it’s very ‘you’.”

There was something in the expression on his face, the tone in his voice, and although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was she knew it was important.  Very much so.

“Is that a good thing?” 

She hesitated as she looked at him and tried to find the right words, choosing them carefully, relaxing a bit under the weight of his hand as she looked at him, ducking her head slightly to attempt to conceal a soft smile from the others, meant not to be seen by anyone else.

“I like it.”

He stared at her, silent for a moment as he looked into her eyes.  The grin was still there but smaller, calmer, and she got the distinct impression that for once she had said the right thing.

She realized her fingers were still curled around his arm and she withdrew them gently, slow enough that if he should disobey again she would be able to catch it.  The arm fell to his side, however, content it seemed to behave itself.  The dreamlike stare with half-lidded eyes seemed to affect the rest of him and he attempted to move closer to her, shifting his weight, a booted foot stepping forward with a scuff and a peg leg attempting to follow, but Roadhog’s hand tugged him back to keep him straight and an irritated grunt escaped him as he looked back toward the large Junker.  It seemed as though it brought the world back together again and he blinked, looking between the four of them as if suddenly recalling they were all there.

Angela had either completed her line of questioning or decided it was best to do it elsewhere and she tipped her head gently towards Roadhog with the question.

“Well since he apparently won’t accept a wheelchair… Mako, would you mind?”

Jamison’s sudden recollection of Roadhog’s presence set him off again and he fixed the larger man with a troubled look, as though perhaps _he_ would give the topic the weight it deserved.

“Hog, they put a tooth in me.”

“Yup.”  The word was blunt and impatient and she wondered how many times Roadhog had heard the comment.  The large man went on without hesitating, already moving as he did so.  “Time to go, Fawkes.” 

Jamison continued even while Roadhog hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, as if not even noticing the change in position.  The tone in his voice verged on a pout, dropped to a sullen mumble.

“Took off me nail polish, too.”

He didn’t struggle and in fact barely seemed to notice that he was suddenly hanging, arm dangling limply over Roadhog’s back, stomach slung over his shoulder.  It was interesting to see him so utterly pliable and she watched as the large Junker turned toward the door and took Jamison briefly out of sight.  His voice drifted out from behind Roadhog’s body, quiet in a way that sounded gently troubled.

“Oi.  Where’d ya go?”

The sigh that came from Roadhog was loud and long-suffering and Satya nearly laughed… it wasn’t terribly difficult to imagine what Jamison might have been like immediately upon waking up if what she had already seen was any indication.  Instead, her hand briefly found the curve of Roadhog’s burly forearm in a small gesture meant as both apology and gratitude and she was pleased with herself that she kept her expression even.

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

It was easy to note the slow tip of his chin to the side but harder to interpret it, particularly through the mask, so she simply withdrew and moved around the side of him.  It seemed better not to leave Jamison ‘alone’ so she fell into step behind them, the rest continuing on ahead as she trailed after.  Jamison breathed a sigh of relief when she came into view.

“Thought ya left for a second there.”

“No.  I am still here.”

He chased her response with a thin giggle that died out slowly, fading away as he looked at her for far too long, bobbing lightly with each jolt of Roadhog’s lumbering form.  She both didn’t know what to say to break the silence and had begun to realize that perhaps she had been a bit too forward, as though perhaps the offer to help with Jamison might be interpreted by the others as something more than simply helping a friend.  His voice pulled her abruptly out of her thoughts.

“So.  Now that we’re alone—”

Oh, gods no.  He was perfectly audible, not only to herself but she was certain to both Lena and Angela and most _definitely_ to Roadhog, who hitched his arm back, jostling Jamison on his shoulder in a way that seemed purposeful, as if it was meant to send a message.  Jamison immediately elbowed the large man in return before his chin found its place in the palm of the prosthetic hand, his gaze never leaving her and a slow grin curling the corners of his mouth.  His expression occupied the space between dreamlike and suggestive and she couldn’t tell how much of it was the residual anesthetic and how much was simply him, whether or not he truly realized that the others were still very much there, or how aware he was of his surroundings at all.

Her eyes flitted upward around Roadhog’s side with a rising panic and though the others were still facing forward it was quiet save for the sounds of the facility around them and their footsteps, enough that certainly they had heard that, at least.  She returned her attention to him and only had a breathless moment to worry about what he could possibly say, making a last-ditch effort to dissuade it without knowing entirely what she could do to do so.  “Jamison—”

“I ever tell ya how gorgeous you are?”

She expected herself to wince but it didn’t come.  Instead her breath came slow, her eyes widening gently in surprise.  It was a simple thing, a fairly unremarkable compliment, but paired with the way he was looking at her and the entire situation it brought a surprising amount of heat to her cheeks.  She swallowed the pressure that had begun to build in her throat and tucked her hair carefully behind an ear as her eyes darted off to the side, alighting on a passing nurse and giving him a simple, polite nod of acknowledgment as a distraction that did nothing to actually jog her attention away from the words.

When she returned her gaze to him he was still there, staring at her with that same hazy look to him.  Despite her better judgment telling her she ought not to encourage the line of conversation she couldn’t find it in herself not to respond and she lowered her voice to a murmur meant only for him to hear.

“You have not.”

She hadn’t been able to stop the way her eyebrow lifted, rising up in an inquisitive arc that she realized too late would likely only perpetuate his interest in the topic.

His grin widened, evened out, turned strangely soft as if the effects of the anesthetic and painkillers had overtaken him again.  Angela and Lena had abruptly begun a conversation and she was too distracted to hear what it was about but felt a relieved breath leave her.  It was certainly enough that neither of them would be able to hear so long as she kept her voice reasonably low, and while Roadhog might still be able to follow the conversation between herself and Jamison… well.  It was more than a bit embarrassing, but then again, he had known from the beginning, from the first time she kissed Jamison, and she had suspicions he knew far more than she would like already.  It wasn’t so terrible.  She had grown fairly fond of the large man, and at the very least she felt as though he was trustworthy with whatever secrets he was keeping.  Besides, Jamison seemed like he would be worse with keeping secrets.  Perhaps him sharing them with Roadhog was the best option to keep them more or less safe.

Jamison’s voice cut into her thoughts, predictably latched to the same topic, and she cursed herself for egging him on.

“I ever tell ya how good ya look in that uniform?”

There was something like a purr in it.  Low and sly and content with a strong drawl to it, and with his chin resting on a metal palm even despite the awkwardness of his position something about the way he said it was appealing.

It was absolutely ridiculous.  She told herself that she hated it but her lips quirked upward at one corner regardless, disobediently. 

“I do not believe so, no.”

A low, pleasant sound escaped his throat and his fingers began a slow tapping against his cheek as if he were stuck in some thought that required some form of physical outlet.

“Hog ain’t lyin’ when he calls me an idiot, then.”

She could actually _see_ the sigh that raised Roadhog’s shoulders before she could hear it and she winced inwardly, and increased her pace for a step or two to close the distance between herself and Jamison.  Roadhog could of course hear everything and she regretted subjecting him to it already.  It seemed it had already been a day that tried his patience.  She could think of no options to try to stop Jamison from speaking, and besides, a part of her hadn’t quite recovered from his choice of topic enough to be truly unsettled, or at least not from any form of mortification.  He not only noticed her closer proximity, but of course had to comment on it.

“No worries love, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.  Well.  I am.  Seems like it’s pretty slow, though.”

It was incredibly awkward, trying to keep an appropriate pace without getting too close to risk running into him and too far away to be able to keep her voice at a reasonable volume so as not to be heard and he was making it no easier with the running commentary.  She took in a slow breath to compose herself and held the smile behind her fingers as she followed him along, speaking only once she could keep the expression out of her tone.  Her voice was a low murmur and despite her best attempts the command didn’t sound as firm as she would have liked.  It was gentle, but chiding all the same. 

“Hush, Jamie.”

It was a mistake, a fact that became immediately apparent as his eyes were forced narrower by the smile and he responded in a sing-song voice that was thankfully still relatively quiet, and if she were being charitable she might think it was on purpose.

“You called me _Jamie_.”  The words were followed by a quiet, subdued giggle and she could think of nothing else to do but attempt to quiet him entirely.  His stare was lazy and pleasant and she realized slowly that not all of the flush she could feel on her cheeks was from embarrassment.

The unsteadiness in her tone could have been given away as the beginnings of a chuckle were anyone else listening but the conversation ahead of her was still moving along, a fact for which she was eternally grateful. 

“ _Please_.”

“You _like_ me.”

She thanked the gods that simply placing the pads of her fingers at her lips stifled the laugh threatening to escape her but his grin had begun to grow rapidly and it was making it much worse.  Within a moment she was forced to abandon the attempt to hide her expression, her teeth biting into her lower lip to keep herself from making further sound, already resolved to the fact that a smile had taken them over.  That she accepted as a lost cause. 

“You are making it very difficult.”

He didn’t seem convinced and instead fixed her with that same stare, dreamy-eyed. 

“I feel like you’re lyin’.”

Roadhog’s steps had slowed as they navigated the street and came to a temporary stop.  The transport was in sight and there was very little time left before the group would be together again, until he would be perfectly audible to all of them, and she hadn’t yet thought of a way to guarantee he wouldn’t say anything revealing.   His hair was an absolute mess from the procedure and from hanging upside-down and her hands lifted instinctively, smoothing it gently until it was at the very least presentable.  He seemed to lean into the touch as much as he could given his position and a quiet hum escaped him as she fixed him with a warning glance.

“I suppose I might be.  But only a little.”

“I _knew_ it.”  A satisfied smile took over his features, although it seemed a bit mystified all the same and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the drugs.

They reached the transport ship quickly enough and went about boarding, Lena and Angela breaking away to help move the last of the supplies to the proper storage areas as Roadhog slung Jamison off of his back and placed him abruptly on the ground, still maintaining a steadying hand on his shoulder despite his clear irritation.  The position took him out of Satya’s sight but coincidentally placed Jamison directly in front of Winston, who was holding a tablet in his hand and appeared to be making last-minute arrangements.

The look on the lanky Junker’s face immediately broadened, his eyes growing wide and a mild grin spreading over his features as he swung his fist clumsily in an attempt to hit the gorilla on the arm. 

“Oi, it’s the monkey!”  Jamison’s swing hit, barely scuffing Winston’s fur, and the gorilla blinked up at him in surprise as he went on with the same open expression, enthusiastic to see him, it seemed, despite their tendency to butt heads.  “How ya goin’, ya great big bastard?”

“Oh.  Um…”  The tone was gently confused and hesitant and Winston’s eyes lowered briefly to the tablet in his hand as it might have the answer before giving up and looking back to them.

Roadhog translated with remarkable patience and in a voice that she would go so far as to describe as kind.  It was strange to hear in his low, rumbling speech and she did her best to attempt to memorize it.  “It’s a term of endearment.”

“Oh.”  It was clearly surprising to Winston and he grasped the tablet a bit more loosely as he looked between Jamison and Roadhog, eventually pushing his glasses upward with a knuckle uncertainly and directing the words primarily to Jamison with hesitant gratitude.  “That’s… well.  Alright.  I _am_ a gorilla, though.” 

“Right, sorry mate.  Couldn’t keep me head on straight if I tried.”  Jamison passed him a quick, limp salute, as if it took a huge amount of effort to even manage the movement but he wanted to try it anyway, and the grin that held stubbornly onto his lips had begun to look exhausted, his eyes half-lidded.  “Yer a good bloke.  Gorilla.  Hog, didja know he was a gorilla?”  He tossed a thumb toward Winston as he looked back to Roadhog and the laugh that escaped him was weak but genuine, pitching upwards sharply at the end with a dogged kind of enthusiasm.

Roadhog didn’t respond and instead brought his hand down on Jamison’s shoulder and dragged him into the ship to push him firmly into a seat and she wasn’t sure how much of it was genuine care and how much of it was simply doing his job by trying to keep Jamison under control when he buckled him in and pointed at him with a large finger.  “Stay there and be quiet.”  He turned away abruptly and lumbered away to slump down into a seat in the row on the opposite side of the ship.

Jamison had the sense not to say anything until Roadhog was out of earshot at least, the words escaping as a grumble that sounded a bit hurt.  “Yeesh.  I was just askin’.”

But there were supplies to finish securing and it didn’t feel right to let the others do the remainder of the work and Jamison seemed to be behaving himself well enough on his own.  By the time everything was squared away Reinhardt and Lena had settled into seats on either side of him and in some ways it was a small relief, as though her sitting next to him might implicate her, somehow.  So she slipped into the seat next to Roadhog instead and settled in for the ride.  Despite his obvious exhaustion Jamison spent the short trip chatting with Lena, the conversation punctuated by the occasional giggle, a weak grin, a lazy nod of his head.  He glanced toward her frequently and Satya had to do her best not to stare back.

 

* * *

 

 

Unpacking the ship went quickly enough that they simply left Jamison strapped into his seat until Roadhog was free to help take him to his room and the team split off, each person moving off to take care of whatever business they needed to attend to.  Satya followed the two Junkers quietly, having decided to take some time in the rec room to clear her thoughts and perhaps to converse with any team members who might be there.  Reinhardt seemed to be there often.  He was a wonderful conversation partner, if more than a bit loud, but so long as she was in a good state of mind it was perfectly tolerable.

Jamison had, of course, continued speaking after being roused from his disoriented state in the transport ship and Roadhog had begun pushing him along down the corridor towards his room with slow, grudging steps.  Jamison’s lucidity seemed to come in waves and as each one crested it came with a sudden burst of words—observations mostly, obvious things, and sometimes questions. 

It would have been impossible for her not to notice Roadhog’s annoyance but Jamison seemed not to notice despite the way the larger Junker’s grip tightened around his arm as they went on.  He was too out of sorts still, she supposed—although given his proclivity to purposefully antagonize the other Junker she couldn’t be sure—and while she wasn’t concerned that anything would happen she was concerned with Roadhog’s general mental wellbeing.  It took her a moment, it took a glance in both directions down the corridor, but she raised her eyes to Roadhog and cleared her throat to get his attention.

“If you would like, Mako, I could take him from here.”

Even without a view of his face the surprise was obvious in the absolute stillness that followed the suggestion and she held back a wince.  It wasn’t as though he didn’t know… he _had_ to know.  Jamison had surely told him everything, or if he hadn’t Roadhog had certainly figured it all out for himself.  It was just that it seemed far too obvious, more than she was ready for.

Roadhog tipped his head in a way that seemed to indicate a change in his gaze, the mask pointed first towards Jamison’s arm in his grip and then back to her.  His hand relaxed slightly, enough that it jogged Jamison out of the state of stupor he’d briefly slipped into, and he pushed him forward towards her. 

His gratitude was simple, low, and rough, but sounded genuine.

“Thanks.”

Her smile was a little more hesitant and weak than she would have liked considering how gratified he had sounded but it was there all the same and she took Jamison’s arm as it was offered, clasping it gently as she pulled him towards herself.  It felt a bit odd, treating Jamison like something of a ragdoll, but he seemed completely pleased with the trade-off and looked from Roadhog to her with eyes suddenly bright.  He seemed to hold a boundless enthusiasm.  It was actually rather nice, particularly when directed towards something other than bombs. 

“We goin’ somewhere?”

She didn’t need to answer.  Roadhog’s voice cut in with a warning tone, official, as if he were giving an order.  She supposed it was likely one he had to use fairly often.  “You’re going to your room.  To sleep.”  The large man offered her a brisk nod before his body turned away and he started to walk, creating a distance quickly with large steps. 

Jamison for his part didn’t seem at all concerned by the tone and called out after him more loudly than was really necessary.  “Hoo roo, Hog!”

Roadhog kept walking.  Satya reached up while he was distracted and lifted his prosthetic arm, looping it over her shoulder.  It seemed to get his attention because he stopped, turned his eyes away from the direction of Roadhog’s retreating form, and looked down at her with a small smile. 

“Hello again.”

A low, gentle laugh escaped her.  It might be a shame once the anesthetic wore off, actually.  It was very interesting to see him in an intoxicated state, it was something new, and his constant wonder with her presence built a warm, pleasant sensation in her chest.

“Come with me, Jamie.  We need to get you into—”

She stopped abruptly, recognizing where the words were going before they had quite escaped.  They were a bit suggestive, but worse, they weren’t her typical phrasing and she wondered, suspicious, if her mind had implemented them without her permission.  She thought better of the wording.

“You need to get some sleep.”

He wasn’t terribly awkward to walk with, especially considering that he didn’t _need_ too much support.  He may not have needed any at all but she preferred caution.  She’d had experience when he’d been kidnapped at any rate, and although he was much taller his arm still laid comfortably over her shoulders, the warm weight of him pulled against her body, her arm curled neatly around his waist.  It was a bit thrilling, actually, the simple act.  It recalled the rescue so well, the relief she had felt, the way he had talked—despite the trauma of it still his humorous self.  Still Jamie.  Still safe.  She actually felt the breath leave her with a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and she held to him a bit more tightly for the simple pleasure of being able to do so.

The door to his quarters slid easily open with a push of the entry button and the light flickered gently on, illuminating the room, and she pressed the button to close the door without so much as a second thought.  Realizing that she probably didn’t need to be holding onto him quite so tightly, she shifted her weight gently to prompt him to stand more or less on his own, which he did without much trouble.  Simple enough.

The room was clean.  Immaculate, even.  She had no way of telling if that it its natural state or if he’d followed through on his joking promise, and although she suspected it was the latter she realized she couldn’t be certain.  Despite the lack of a need for it he had hung fabric over the window in makeshift curtains; the built-in blinds had always done the work of shutting out the light perfectly in her experience, so the curtains made little sense, but it was an unnecessary line of thought so she let it drift away.  She imagined there were many things he did that she didn’t understand.  There _were_ mines, stacked neatly in a corner.  The question of whether or not they were active wasn’t something she could answer simply by looking at them and so she forcibly moved her thoughts away from it rather than have to think about it.

He talked, of course, although for a moment she wasn’t entirely sure he was aware he was doing it, and the words escaped him in a light and amused tone, a quiet giggle chasing after.

“ _Chateau d’Fawkes_.”  He turned his eyes towards her, his lips parted in a faint smile, the grogginess on his features almost mistakable for something sly.  She doubted he had it in him.  So she helped him to the edge of his bed, the remaining weight of him sliding off of her shoulders as he sat down with a quiet grunt, and her hand followed to linger on his shoulder for a moment to offer itself as a steadying force that he didn’t need before she withdrew it hesitantly.

“Do you need anything?”

There was a pause as he looked around the room, clearly trying to gather his thoughts, and ended up with his head dropped to look down at his prosthetic leg.  He lifted his metal hand in momentary silence and plucked at the binding of it, having to pull up the bottom of his shorts just slightly to do so.  There was a bit of a slump to his shoulders as he considered before glancing back up to her with one eyebrow lowered in a look of apology.

“Was kinda hopin’ to take the leg off.  Gets bloody uncomfortable sometimes.”  He went on as if the explanation wasn’t good enough and he hoped to better justify it, and the more he talked the more uncertain the words began to sound.  “Can’t be good for the sheets, either.  D’ya mind?  It’s a little tricky with the one hand, the metal one.  Harder to get a good grip.”

She supposed that went doubly for someone with somewhat reduced motor function.  She couldn’t figure out the reason for his hesitance for a moment—after all, she had no objection to helping him—until she considered the logistics of it.  Truly the easiest way to take care of it would be to simply kneel in front of him to access it.  It was the only possible reason she could think of for his apology.

If she took the time to think about it she would have to admit that it was remarkably intimate.  Which was perhaps why she didn’t give herself the time.

Seeing no purpose in a verbal response she sat without much hesitation, situating herself so that she was nestled in the space between his booted foot and the peg leg.  She coiled her body, folded her legs under herself to get comfortable as she examined the mechanism, her back pressed against the warmth of his leg as her eyes searched over the prosthetic.  There was no need to take quite as much of an interest in it as she did.  Accessing the entire thing required her to push the fabric of his shorts up and out of the way.  The metal was smooth and cool.  Complex, it seemed.  She was surprised she had never paid it much attention, and while it seemed less impressive than his arm she began to notice the subtleties of it—the plates protecting the joints, the heavy hinge, the shocks.  A mechanism in the back that seemed to allow him to control the angle of it, at least to some degree.  She wasn’t certain at first sight how it worked.

It connected via straps and binding and she undid them carefully, unrushed, taking her time in freeing him of it.  The binding left indentations in his skin as she pulled it away and the metal was cool and heavy in her hands, heavier than she expected it to be somehow, as surprising as it had been to hold the arm.  It only made sense that he would be as well-muscled as he was, a fact that she decided pointedly to stop reminding herself of as she placed the limb carefully on ground and unfurled, rising to her feet and slipping neatly onto the edge of the bed beside him.

He had taken to scratching the end of the missing limb gently, the rubber pads on the tips of his fingers moving over the red marks the prosthetic had left and keeping his eyes on it before glancing at her, sidelong.

“Ta.”  He fixed her with a smile that still seemed a bit far away, some color to his cheeks, a dazed expression, lips slightly parted.  “Reckon it would’ve taken me a while.” 

Free of the thing, he pulled his body taut in a hard stretch, his prosthetic hand on the edge of the bed and his shoulders tensing, a small tremor moving through him and an unfocused look passing over his face before he sighed, satisfied.  “Always feels nice to take it off.  Not like the arm.  Sometimes that one feels better to keep on, y’know?”  His eyes were on her through the pause as he considered her, strange, amber-colored things that always seemed to catch what light there was in the room.  “Maybe a mental thing.  I got a few of those.”  He laughed, a light sound that lilted upwards in pitch dramatically in a way that seemed pleased with itself.

His eyes shifted to the cool white of her gauntlet, his head tipping gently to the side as he considered the shoulder of it and let his gaze drift down its length to where it met the edge of the bed.  It was a thoughtful look, a somewhat tentative one, but his tongue moved over the words anyway like he couldn’t quite keep it in check.

“What about yours?”

The question surprised her and for a moment she wasn’t sure what he was asking.  It took her eyes following the path his own had for her to understand and she lifted her palm up off the sheets, holding it in her opposite hand and pulled the both of them slowly toward her chest in a gesture that was almost protective.  No one ever asked about it.  It was easy for her to forget it entirely. 

It didn’t seem like… well it wasn’t _like_ his, or at least she had never thought of it that way, had never seen them in any similar light.  It wasn’t just an extension of her body but a part of it, and the white fingers curled gently over those of her other hand as she considered the question, searching for a full understanding of what he meant before she could even consider finding an answer that she’d never had to give before.

“Hm?”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Ah.”  She looked at it carefully for a long moment, turning her wrist over, rolling it simply to experience the motion and reveling in the perfect smoothness of the movements, the way it reacted seamlessly to her intent.  She knew that Jamison’s worked in a completely different way, pulled together by scrap and wires rather than connected via electrodes, responding directly to her nervous system.  She had been impressed by his arm, truly, but it still seemed… different somehow.  More mechanical, less natural, despite the fact that her own was made of a material no less inorganic than his.  The thought gave her pause and made her feel uncomfortable.

“I prefer to wear it as much as possible.”  She hoped the answer would suffice.  Whatever it was in her voice he seemed to pick up on it as he dropped the topic cheerily enough.

“Yeah.  I get that.”

She couldn’t find anything to say in the silence that followed, too distracted in her own thoughts to really even consider it, and she was interrupted by his sudden movement and the sound of his voice, casual as he curled the fingers of his prosthetic arm around the hem of his shirt. 

“Well.  Time to get rid ‘a this.”

He slipped the cast through the arm of the tanktop and pulled the fabric unceremoniously up over the top of his head with a grunt before tossing the shirt to the floor, leaving his hair mussed in the process.  She had a moment of fleeting regret for the clean floor before distraction kicked in.

It wasn’t as though she’d never seen him shirtless before.  Far from it.  But there was something about being there in the dim light of his room, sitting next to him on the bed as he pulled the clothing away that made it feel entirely different.  It was enough of a surprise that she pulled back, looking him over unwillingly.  Hard edges.  Smooth muscle.  Hip bones and broad shoulders.  Her fingers itched to smooth his hair, although she somehow very much doubted it was for the simple need to create some order in him.

Before she could say anything he had hooked his thumb against the button of his shorts and popped it open, unhurried and perfectly at ease, it seemed, with the motion.  There didn’t seem to be any concern regarding her presence and for a moment she thought perhaps he had forgotten that she was there.  She felt her entire body tense and she lifted a hand reflexively as if to stop him, say something, but there was nothing she could do without touching him in a gesture that felt as though it would be far too revealing and she didn’t trust her voice to stay calm and measured.  She managed something anyway, ignoring the unsteadiness of it.

“Jamie—”

He paused and blinked, lifting his head to look at her with his chin tipped lightly to the side, inquisitive and failing to understand for a moment.  She could see the gears turning as he hesitated, paused with his thumb looped under the waistband of his shorts, his posture bent and his eyes lowering toward the ground to facilitate thought, one narrowed under a heavily furrowed brow.  Like he knew there was something he was supposed to do but was having trouble putting it all together.  After a moment he lifted his head and turned the look towards her instead, quizzical.  There was a long pause as he simply stared before he pressed the tip of his tongue against the sharp point of a tooth thoughtfully and muttered something likely not meant for her.

“… right.”

His thumb seemed reticent to let the waistband of his shorts go and he sat there for a moment with his fingers toying over the stitching, tugging lightly at it to give the digits something to do.  There was a cringe in the expression, a weak one, an acknowledgment of the awkwardness of it without seeming to truly feel it.

“… d’ya mind if I take these off?  They ain’t much good if ya want to get some shut-eye.  I ain’t starkers or anythin’ under ‘em, promise.”

There was absolutely no reason for her to reject it.  Somehow the thought of excusing herself and leaving didn’t occur to her.  Perhaps it was the shock of the abruptness of it.  Or concern for his well-being, something she could likely convince herself of if she tried hard enough.  Perhaps it was something else entirely.

There was little she could say and her raised fingers curled gently against nothing, resigned as she answered, having to take a breath and swallow the hard lump that had developed in her throat before doing so.  “No… of course, that is fine.” 

He flashed her a quick grin that seemed to be all innocence before tugging at his zipper and she slipped automatically off of the edge of the bed with the idea of creating space between them but it only ended with her standing a short distance off in front of him, staring blatantly, grateful for the scant separation between them but suddenly aware that in reality it was not much better.  She’d merely swapped the proximity for the view.  Teasing him was one thing.  Being assaulted with the sight of him was another.  Words didn’t have nearly as much sway as the physicality of it.

He was paying no attention to her whatsoever and she could hear her pulse in her ears and her cheeks felt like they were on fire and it was so, _so_ absurd… she had seen him nearly naked in the shower, nothing but a towel draped over him, but this somehow was worse. 

It was clearly awkward, removing the shorts while constrained to one leg and a prosthetic arm.  Her mind unhelpfully suggested that she offer assistance and while it was immediately and thoroughly rejected it came with a spike of something that wasn’t quite panic, but perhaps she could convince herself it was.  He snagged a metal thumb around the waistline of his shorts and tugged them down, hitching them inch by inch as she tore her eyes away with effort and allowed them to wander to the side, his form still perfectly visible in her peripheral vision as she bent an arm at the elbow, tucking it across her chest to clutch her opposite forearm.  It was a comforting pose, however slight, and she held to it tightly.

His success was indicated by a quiet grunt and the abrupt removal of a boot which joined the shirt and the shorts on the floor with a gentle thump.

Despite her better judgment her eyes drifted toward him to find him with a triumphant grin, an expression that was undermined slightly by how tired he suddenly looked.  He was wearing boxers, thank the gods.  She noted that they were patterned and she allowed her eyes to linger on them for a moment: small, cartoonish bombs with lit fuses.  If she had anything near the correct frame of mind she would be amused and oddly embarrassed in an entirely different way. 

His shoulders slumped and he released a satisfied sigh as he leaned back and she did her best to ignore his mildly quickened breathing.  “That’s better.”

The look of disarray suited him in ways she wouldn’t have expected and it was far too easy to consider other scenarios that might result in the same state. 

The necessity of her being there had ended long ago but it was abruptly perfectly clear and so she took a slow backwards step towards the door.  The question was quiet and sounded weak to her ears as though attempting to hold up under the weight of a steadily crumbling resolve.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Nah.  Think I’m good.”  She noted the way he curled his toes before wiggling them as if reveling in the freedom from the confines of his boot and despite her distraction she was forced to fight away a smile, turning her eyes back to the door as he went on.  “Thanks.”

She could only manage a nod and a gentle hum of acknowledgment in response before she gathered herself with a long breath, releasing it as a relieved sigh.  “Alright, then.”  Her voice was hesitant and for once it was for a reason that she could identify with absolute certainty.  “I should let you sleep.”

“Y’know you can stay if ya want.”

He was still sitting at the edge of the bed with one long leg splayed outward, toes flexing, the palm of his prosthetic hand pressed back against the mattress and his fingers tangled lightly in the sheets.  There was a moment where he glanced up at her and it was the same expression he had worn when she was leaving for Vishkar, something guarded but hopeful.  When he’d talked about where she belonged in such vague terms, a conversation that she hadn’t fully understood the meaning of until later.  Not nearly as severe, but there all the same.

It threw her more off guard than she would ever care to admit, both the idea of it and his expression, and it was certainly not helped by anything that had come before it.  She was grateful her tongue was quick to answer, making the decision without her.

“I shouldn’t…”  She couldn’t for the life of her find a reason why despite a somewhat desperate rummage through her own thoughts; she knew one was there, likely more, but none of them were sticking.  It was hard enough as it was and the fact that he had removed his shirt and shorts and was left sitting at the edge of the bed with his hair in mild disorder had done nothing to help.  It was more skin than she had ever seen of him—more than the shower, even—and she could see the way the muscles of his abdomen coiled as he leaned back, the way they relaxed and those of his shoulders strained as he lifted the prosthetic arm over his head for an indulgent stretch.  He couldn’t possibly have known what he was doing.  It didn’t make it any less terrible.

The words came out of her too quickly with more relief to her tone than she would prefer, but given the scenario she would take what she could get.  “There are things I need to attend to.”  It may have been a lie but she couldn’t even be sure and it didn’t matter; the excuse had been made and she couldn’t take it back. 

She could hear the disappointment in his voice despite his apparent effort to hide it under the shadow of a small grin. 

“No worries, just thought I’d offer.”

Despite her answer she realized that she was still considering it… it didn’t have to be anything more than a comfort.  He was in no shape to do anything other than sleep, at any rate, and that was innocent enough.  She stood there for a moment as her mind continued, attempting to find a way to make it work, some excuse she could give if she were caught leaving god knows how long after she had dropped him off.  She tried to force the idea away but it refused to budge until she pressed her own argument against it more insistently.  It simply wasn’t worth the risk.  Her being there alone with him behind a close door was suspicious enough as it was.

With the matter settled he tipped himself away unceremoniously to flop back against the sheets and she tried to ignore the way his chest rose and fell with his breath and the angles of his hips and the sight of the thin trail of blond hair that traced a line down his lower belly and disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Perhaps she had gotten herself in a bit over her head. 

Her retreat was embarrassingly abrupt and she could only hope he was still out of sorts enough either not to notice or not to recall it later; she took a step or two back with a careful rearranging of strands of hair behind her ear and forced her eyes towards the door, latching onto it as if it were a lifeline, and she started toward it without looking at him.  “I’ll turn off the lights for you.”

She could hear the deep, content sigh and was eternally grateful she wasn’t watching him for it.  The visual came to her uninvited anyway, the movement in the hollows of his stomach, a faint smile no doubt curling his lips.  Seeing it might have been better.

“Thanks, love.”

He sounded as if he were nearly asleep already, as if all that had been keeping him awake was the uncertainty of whether or not she would be staying, and perhaps it was. 

She lowered the lights and slipped out as soon as she could, allowing the door to sweep shut behind her.  She could feel the dull thud of her heart in her chest as if she had just left a particularly strenuous encounter and she took a moment to try to compose herself outside of the door, staring blankly ahead.  A not-insignificant part of her deeply regretted leaving.  She was lucky, really, that his arm was still in a cast and he was still not entirely lucid.  She was luckier still that he hadn’t asked her to stay again.

She stood there just outside his door, staring blankly across the hallway as she attempted to finish processing what had just happened.  A shudder moved through her and brought her back to reality.

She needed to stop thinking about it.  At any rate, one thing was certain; it was time to go somewhere and be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably went a little overboard here, whoops.
> 
> In which Satya holds onto any possible illusion that they might not be totally obvious to anyone who’s actually paying attention. In which a couple of people actually probably don’t know and the people who do are too polite to say anything.
> 
> I played pretty fast and loose with some dental stuff here (sorry) but he got an implant rather than a bridge because I figure god knows the state of all his other teeth what with some of them being sharpened, him already missing another, etc. Also I feel like he’d rather have a new tooth drilled into his head than have some other ones filed down because those are his teeth, dammit. Also it’s the future! Advanced implantation and recovery techniques! Sorry to any dental hygienists or surgeons.
> 
> oh and [I drew Junkrat in boxers](http://rimmerslustmonster.tumblr.com/post/151646192391/idk-man-i-just-wanted-to-draw-a-sleepy-junkboy) because ha ha why not right
> 
> the next chapter (potentially the one after) should be... ummm....... _interesting_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change. That is all.

Jamison caught her staring during a mission in Mexico. 

The treatments on his arm had gone remarkably well and within two weeks Angela had deemed him ready to go back into the field, although she did stress light duty, no combat if at all possible.  He hadn’t seemed terribly pleased about it but after two weeks of doing a combination of chores and nothing on base while most of the others disappeared sometimes for days at a time the prospect of being out in the field again seemed to have lit a fire in him.  Angela had originally forbade him from bringing the rip-tire, saying it would put too much strain on his arm, but after repeated requests for second and third opinions she had relented with a sigh. 

It was fairly straightforward and standard considering their recent missions: search and seizure of a known stockpile of Los Muertos drugs and weaponry.  Even better, all evidence suggested the gang was working with reduced manpower, meaning it would be an easy take-over, a confiscation without much risk for damage to public property or the endangerment of any civilians or even to themselves.  As far as Overwatch missions went it was about as good as it could get, so the mood on the dropship was easy and mostly carefree.  Jamison in particular was all excitement to the point of having trouble sitting still—chatting away energetically with Lena, playing a game of trying to match Reinhardt’s volume and cadence (something Reinhardt never seemed to notice), and laughing that familiar, high-pitched giggle.  Perhaps it was a bit more manic than it needed to be but it was there all the same.

Guadalajara was beautiful at night but they had arrived at midday and it was hot, a kind of heat that brought out unwanted memories of the place Satya had grown up, a place she disliked calling ‘home’ but would have to admit to if asked.  The team had assembled under the stone eaves of a courtyard for a final briefing before the infiltration but Jamison preferred to stand in the sun, the harness strapped across his chest and the rip-tire on the ground beside him, the lack of its weight allowing him to stand straighter than he often did.  Wearing the weapon seemed to bring out the tension in him like some kind of Pavlovian response and it was easy to see that he was enthused to be there and at the prospect of a fight even if there wasn’t supposed to be one—a vicious kind of enthusiasm, something that made him raw in a way she still wasn’t used to, a way that made her feel uneasy in a way she wasn’t certain she liked, and it was something she preferred not to think about. 

Still, when pointed in the right direction that energy was a powerful tool and he did, she would have to admit, perform his function admirably.  And it was easier to know that removing any gang members and their drugs and weapons from the street would unequivocally improve the lives of the people living there—the very people who had tipped them off in the first place.  It was a soothing thought and it made her breathe more easily, made her less concerned with Jamison’s eagerness and the way it turned him into a live-wire, thirsty for something in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

She didn’t think of herself as a killer, despite the fact that she had.  And she certainly didn’t think of herself as bloodthirsty; she had done it only when it needed to happen to serve the greater good, or when there was no other choice.  But a thought nagged at her, the kind that made her feel sick to her stomach, a wondering of how much of it had actually been necessary, how much had actually helped anything at all aside from helping to fill Vishkar’s pockets.  She could tell herself that she meant well.  That she had always done what she thought was necessary.  But she had always believed in the end results being what mattered and the results were clear.  People had suffered.  And they had done so because of her.  

None of them were thoughts she wanted to be having let alone during a briefing and none of them would help with their mission so she tried her best to shove the them away.  She needed a distraction.  She latched desperately onto Winston’s voice as he spoke, gentle and calm, and it helped to clear her mind.

“We have a mole, a local.  She’ll let team one in through the door on the building’s southern side and it should be easy from there, but just in case team two will be ready to flank.  Jamison, you’ll stay back and watch the ship.”

Jamison had been staring at the ground, prodding at the dirt in the thin cracks of the stone workings of the floor with his peg leg as if trying to dislodge it, the tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth and his hair wild and yellow under the bright sun.  The sound of his name, the silence that followed, and the combined stare of everyone jogged him from his work and he looked up, blinking at all of them before realizing that someone had said something directed at him.  He didn’t seem at all concerned that he’d missed it, though his eyes flitted across the group before settling on Winston. 

“… you what, mate?”

She could hear Roadhog’s guttural sigh chasing after his words.

Winston’s patience had always impressed her and he followed through reliably with nothing but a short breath and an adjustment of his glasses as he kept his eyes on his tablet.  “You’ll be staying with the ship.”  Jamison’s loud, exasperated groan did nothing to dissuade him of it, though he did look at him appraisingly for a moment before his eyes moved to Roadhog instead.  “I think it might be best if you stay back with him, Mako.”  The large Junker grunted in acquiescence, and even with the simplicity of the response managed to sound entirely unsurprised.

There was little more to be discussed than an inventory of what they ought to expect to find and as Winston went on she found herself slightly unfocused, the words reaching her but not being entirely processed, the syllables stored for later use at the back of her mind.  She was preoccupied by other things.  It was the heat, surely, but the interruption had jogged Jamison from his concentration on the floor and he had stood up straight, pressing the palms of his hands against the back of his hips and pushing them forwards so that his back arched in a way that pulled his body into a stretch.  In spite of the presence of the harness and the grenades strapped to it it highlighted the muscles of his chest and abdomen and the movement tipped his head back, emphasizing the bob of his adams apple on his exposed throat.  She had no doubt that the movement had drawn cracks from his spine given the look of satisfaction on his features and the quiet sigh that she couldn’t hear but could see, the breath pursing his lips before they turned upwards at their corners in a faint smile.  The golden flecks of his eyes seemed to be alight and the sun settled high in the sky had left a thin sheen of sweat on his bare skin.  It suited him, far too much.  She could easily imagine him in a dusty, sun-bleached landscape, a bronze hue slowly enveloping the freckles on his shoulders and drowning them in a sea of gently darkening color.

She wasn’t sure what to do with the mental image.

And it was hard for her to stop the way her eyes strayed once it started, following the sight of pale skin downward, the leather strapped around his waist interrupting her eyes’ path but leaving a thin strip of skin below visible between it and the fabric of his shorts, slung low as they often were, perhaps pushed farther downwards from the weight of the flask on his hip and the mine-laden satchel at his side.  It was no wonder she had failed previously to notice the thin trail of blond hair on his belly; it was more or less obscured.  She wished earnestly that she hadn’t had reason to notice it.  Her gaze had traced what she could see of it and sank lower past the buckle of his belt before a prickling of awareness brought her eyes upward and found his staring back at her, peering directly at her, his expression difficult to read.  She had no idea how long he had been watching her but the change in his expression was quick with recognition as his eyes widened, turning bright as though he had won some sort of prize.  Her own darted away as quickly as she could manage, something she only realized after the fact was likely more damning than the stare in the first place.

It was too revealing, the way she pulled in a deep breath, although she doubted she could have saved herself anyway, and when she chanced a look back toward him his features had smoothed into something that was distinctly smug yet still subtle, a faint but Cheshire grin, his chin tipped slightly to the side in a look of appraisal as he watched her.  It was an expression that indicated just what a lost cause it was to ever try to deny what had happened.  She had hoped that it all might simply have been attributable to the oppressive weather—a distracted, numb stare coincidentally directed at him—but her eyes were too focused for her to claim she had been staring at nothing.  She could only hope that no one else had noticed as well.

Her mind attempted to move back to the briefing.  It was far too easy to become flustered when she felt as though she weren’t in control, when she didn’t have a plan, and while training and conditioning had taught her how to deal with those feelings on the battlefield there were certain circumstances in which she still felt vulnerable.  Jamison was beginning to feel like one of those circumstances.  Without the confidence at her back she felt off balance and for once it was a feeling that she wasn’t certain of.  Something new.  Something that she couldn’t determine if she liked or not. 

Winston had finished speaking by the time she had gathered her thoughts and she looked up while pointedly avoiding looking in Jamison’s direction.  They had a job to do and regardless of how simple it was supposed to be it deserved her focus.  Whatever the repercussions there were to be for her unfortunate lapse in concentration, they would have to wait.

 

* * *

  

The takeover was performed with an ease that would have been surprising were it not for everything they knew suggesting it would be little more than walking through the door.  The sting had gone so smoothly that they opted to stay into the night on the off-chance of more gang members trickling in as the day went on rather than simply turn things over to local officials.  They had been quiet enough that they may have gone unnoticed and all their intel seemed to indicate that the neighbors and the gang did not have a mutually friendly relationship, giving them a much better chance that no-one had tipped any remaining members off.

In addition to a rooftop patrol they set up a space to guard the stockpiles and took up shifts, two of them at a time, switching one person out each hour.  She had managed to avoid Jamison entirely for the remainder of the day until he came to relieve Lena of her station at eleven o’clock.  It seemed inevitable that she would end up on a shift with him, somehow.  She couldn’t be certain that he hadn’t requested it, although she doubted Winston would do him any favors.

The humidity had lingered into the night making the air thick and heavy but slightly cooler and the practicality of it and the irritating prickling against her skin had caused her to tie her hair up in a pony-tail to keep it off of her neck.  Despite the ease of it it had been a long day and she found herself desperately wanting a shower, some form of relaxation, and sleep.  The heat was more taxing than she remembered it being and while it was easy to be polite and she could enjoy Lena’s company on some levels it had made it more difficult, had built a restlessness in her that she was eager to wash off.  She was not terribly keen to see what kind of addition Jamison’s presence might bring.

It didn’t begin immediately.  He had arrived slightly early and begun settling in as Lena and Satya wrapped up their conversation for a moment at least was apparently lost in his own world.  He had come fully prepared despite the likely quiet with the rip-tire at his back, and had unclipped it from the harness and lowered it to the ground with a grunt and a heavy thud that she did her best not to watch and failed.  Her stare concerned her less than it otherwise might have as he seemed to be paying them no attention and Lena was watching him as well, leaning slightly closer to murmur a bit of commentary.

“I’ve never much liked that thing.  Pretty terrifying, isn’t it?  The _sound_ it makes.”

Satya couldn’t help but agree with a wordless hum, at least with the latter part.  The tire did impart a certain horror when it roared to life and if its targets ever knew to expect it she imagined it would instill a deep panic.  But then again, it looked formidable enough on its own that it probably still did anyway.

She had seen it in action in person, just once.  Even then she had to admire the strength it had taken to pull the thing off of his back, the way his body bent and pulled taut in one violent motion, an expert torque and angle applied so that it reached the desired target.  The jubilant look on his face as it revved away from where his foot was pressed against the rubber and the almost manic grin as he moved for cover, detonator in hand.  The destruction was impressive in itself but the sheer power and skill required to get it to work had struck her in a way she hadn’t expected.  She still wondered how he had come up with such a thing, but then, he’d proven to be very creative and surprising in ways she hadn’t expected.  She could hear the gentle amusement in Lena’s voice as she went on.

“Funny though, you’d think he might decide to make something else.  It’s hard to get tires nowadays, in most of the world anyway.  Did you know we have to ship them in for him?  Luckily he doesn’t use them too often.  Maybe it’s kind of like that saying.  You can take a Junker out of Junkertown, but you can’t take the Junkertown out of a Junker?”

The thought was ridiculous and she looked towards Lena with a quiet, exhausted chuckle.  It made sense in some strange way, the idea that he would still be scrapping materials despite his new station, how it all affected him even down to the way he dressed himself.  Her tired mind toyed with the thought with a strange sort of amusement, preferring it to be devoid of context.  It wasn’t quite true, obviously.  He seemed different from when she had first arrived, slightly calmer, most certainly more open, and on much friendlier terms with most of the team.  Her lips curled in a small smile at the thought.

He looked over the rip-tire as the two of them watched and she considered him closely, imagining the rough pads of fingers and a palm wrapped in leather traversing carefully over it, inspecting it for damage.  His fingernails had been painted black again to match the rubber, something that had happened almost immediately after he regained his senses from the dental surgery.  There was a strange sort of tenderness in the way he touched it; when it was time for the rip-tire to be used it became something of a monster but until those moments he handled the thing… not carefully, per se.  But lovingly, perhaps.  As he did most of his creations, she supposed, the pride he put into his work clear on his features whenever he toyed with them.

Lena went on more cheerily.  “At any rate, I guess it gets the job done!  Probably not much use for it tonight though, or at least let’s hope not.”  She smiled and darted to her feet abruptly, her head tipped lightly to the side.  “Anyway, I’m off, love.  Reinhardt should be in in an hour or so to relieve you and let you get some sleep.”

It was kind of her, the reassurance.  Satya lifted a hand to pull a few strands of hair back behind her ear as she looked toward her with a faint smile of appreciation.  “Thank you, Lena.  Goodnight.”

The woman zipped away from her with a quiet giggle, flickering out of the room with a wave and a quick, “Goodnight, Jamison!” to the Junker as she passed.  He blinked, jarred to attention, and waved distractedly to her.  It took a moment before he turned his eyes toward Satya and her mind immediately snapped back to the present.  She had planned for it, quite literally; a paper of blueprints was already laid out in front of her on a stack of crates, table-level, and she stared at him dolefully for a moment in a look that she hoped would communicate that she emphatically did not want to talk about the earlier incident before she lowered her eyes to the plans and considered them for a moment, reviewing what must be done before she began constructing, moving, first her hands and then slowly her entire body as the structure began to build out of nothing in the air, a gentle blue cloud glowing around the slowly developing surface inside it.  It was the perfect distraction and she was pleased with herself for having thought of it.  It drove him almost entirely from her mind save for one thing: even in her peripheral vision she could tell that he was staring.

Only it was worse than simply staring.  Quick glances toward him between the lines of the shape between her hands revealed an expression that rapidly began to cause her concentration to crumble.  Under most circumstances she didn’t mind open interest… but there was something else in it that was irritating.  Something smug.  It only grew worse when he caught her eyes once or twice and his lips curled in a small, self-satisfied smile that was all the more infuriating because of its subtlety.  He leaned forward in her field of view over a stack of crates, his hand fiddling with a detonator, turning it deftly over between his fingers in a smooth, practiced way.  It was insufferable and she paused her weaving and simply looked at him for a moment after recognizing it before narrowing her eyes and abruptly returning to her work. 

She could only blame herself, really.  She had given him a reason to be cocky and self-assured and he was merely acting the part.  The idea that it suited him come to her mind, somehow just as well as the almost self-conscious nervousness, and she wasn’t certain which she preferred more.  The fact that she was considering the question so actively did nothing to make her less agitated.  She kept her eyes on the construct between her hands, offering him nothing but a distracted murmur, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her full attention.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the door?”

He responded immediately as if he’d been waiting for her to say something and lowered his chin to the palm of his mechanical hand as he watched her with a steady gaze.  “I put a few traps down.  Tossed a couple’a mines around ‘em.  Somebody walks in and kaboom!  Nothin’ to worry about.”  The grin spread more widely across his features as he raised an eyebrow in counter.  “Aren’t you supposed to be watchin’ the hallway?”

She began moving again, more slowly and tentatively.  It wasn’t entirely wise to attempt to have the conversation while creating but it was innocent enough and she would rather keep up the appearance of it being effortless, as if his staring was nothing to her.  “I have placed a network of turrets that will alert us to and eliminate any unwanted company.”

It seemed to be enough for him, although she doubted if he had any real concerns about it in the first place.

“Fair’s fair.”

The words between them died out and though she would have expected to be relieved the silence only highlighted his unwavering gaze more starkly.  It wasn’t long before she couldn’t stand it and although the words didn’t distract from her construction they did sound somewhat short and a bit too irritated.

“Do you intend to stare this entire time?”

“Just returnin’ the favor.”  He grinned, features drawn like the cat that ate the canary, the glint of his gold tooth visible even from the distance.  She watched him for a moment longer as if applying the words more slowly might make them more convincing, the construction paused, the shape shrouded still in a deep cloud of blue that shimmered gently even as she held it in limbo, merely sustaining it.

“… I was not staring.”  Her tone was firm and stubborn and brooked no disagreement but he did so anyway.

“Really?  Didn’t seem like that to me.”  The words slipped out of him like a purr and his voice pitched upward with a quiet giggle that forced his eyes closed from the sheer satisfaction of it.  His hands lowered to the crate in front of himself and he pushed himself off of it to take languid steps toward her in that strange gait of his, clearly intending to close the gap between them.  He talked as he moved, the thumb of his hand looped casually into his pocket and sharing the space with the detonator he’d slipped into it, his tone casual to match as he looked off to the side.  “Seemed like ya saw somethin’ ya liked considerin’ how long you were lookin’.”

With his gaze elsewhere she had the opportunity to watch him more closely and it only occurred to her a moment later that perhaps that had been the point.  He was still wearing the harness, but had at some point removed the  grenades and it did little to take away from the look of him.  She was annoyed with herself once she realized and looked back to the lines of blue floating between her fingertips, her voice a bit more clipped than she would have preferred.  It made her distraction seem obvious and it did nothing to improve her mood.

“I assure you it was no such thing.”

He didn’t answer.  But he was closer, close enough for her to hear the repeat of his laugh, quieter this time and lower but no less amused.  Within a moment he had rounded the crates on which she had placed the blueprints and come to stand beside her, leaning nonchalantly back against them, his hands finding the edges of the wooden surface as he sat and his palms nearly touching the plans she was working so hard to focus on.  And she managed for a bit longer.  It was achieved partially through simple force of will and partially through a long, slow breath that she released just loudly enough that it could be construed as a sigh, one she hoped would sound sufficiently annoyed.  But it was the sort of thing he seemed to thrive on, given the way he leaned farther into her field of view with his chin tipped to the side, his face appearing behind her architecture with a wide grin as he leaned closer to accommodate the position.

“You busy?”

Her eyes flicked toward him again despite herself, pulling into focus on the space behind her work before abruptly returning it to it.  He simply had to make it difficult, one way or another.  His face was no less distracting than his body in part because she doubted the arrogance had truly left him even if it was temporarily buried under a smile, all innocence, as though he were holding a simple conversation with her and not presenting her repeatedly with some kind of challenge.

“You _know_ that I am.”

“Makin’ what?”

She drew in another slow breath and lifted her chin just slightly so that she could look down at the shape between her hands, an angle that brought him mostly out of view save for the tip of his chin.  “A new design.”

“Ooh.  Looks complicated.  What’s it do?”

There was little point resisting, and in fact to do so seemed like it would be some form of defeat.  “It’s a new turret.  One that can detect allies.  It will require some non-hard-light components, at least for now, but it will still be invaluable.”  Talking about her work, she found, actually seemed to help.  Her mind turned to finding a sufficient explanation with ease and she nearly smiled at herself before thinking better of it and continuing, hoping not to encourage him regardless of the topic.  “It is always more difficult to integrate non-hard-light components into a hard-light design.  Often they are incompatible in the hands of lesser-skilled architechs.”

“What about me arm, then?”

She hadn’t considered it when she’d started to speak.  It wasn’t the same.  Not at all.  Simple physical integration was relatively easy so long as the shapes were right, as long as they fit together as intended.  A gentle shrug moved over her shoulders as she dismissed the comment but she felt her guard lower as she talked about her work, her interest shifting to something more genuine.

“That is different.  Your arm is a simple physical mechanism, not something that requires current or charge.  This requires communication between both the hard-light and other components, hence the increased complexity.”  She allowed herself a glance toward him to find him with a small smile, a seemingly sincere expression and the tension that had begun to build in her shoulders was relieved, allowing them to drop again and for her eyes to fall back to the gently glowing cloud before her.  “It will require each ally to have an identifier which the turret can recognize, a piece of equipment we will wear.  More importantly, that mechanism will have to be seamlessly integrated into the hard-light design.”

“Smart.”

The simple compliment was more than enough and even given his poor behavior she allowed herself a faint smile.  Satisfied, not necessarily with herself but simply with the success of having gotten the point across, for having shared a brief moment of understanding.  It was short-lived as he shifted his weight on the surface and scooted an inch or so closer so that he could be directly behind the hard-light, his face lowered farther so that it would be impossible for her not to see it again.  The grin had returned and this time she could tell: devious, despite his attempt at projecting blamelessness.

“I’d hate ta be a distraction.”

It was ridiculous enough to make her laugh, a quiet thing little more than a snort that she turned into something derisive with surprising ease.  “Don’t be concerned, I doubt you could be one if you tried.”  The words and tone combined could be easily construed as something cold but he didn’t seem to take it as such.  Had she realized she would have been grateful for it.

“You’re makin’ it sound like a challenge.”

He had changed his position again.  Standing, nearly.  His thumbs were looped in his pockets again but he still sat, straighter and less intrusive but strangely it drew her eyes to him anyway with one eyebrow lofted upward in a high arch.  She trained her voice carefully to be unimpressed and it was easy.  It felt natural, comfortable.  In control.

“This is not a game you wish to play with me.”

“Why’sat?”

“You _will_ lose.”  There was no smile, no lighthearted indication that she was joking but also no dire warning with it, just a casual statement of a truth she felt unequivocally.

He watched her for a long moment that she should have taken as a warning before the words finally left him.  “… so does that mean we’re playin’?”

It was dangerous territory.  Obviously so, but she somehow failed to recognize it as something of a dare.  She looked away and projected calm, disaffection, utter lack of concern as she allowed a beat of silence to go on but there was a pause, a split second firing in her brain, and then the words. 

“I suppose we are.”

Once she realized it a part of her wondered if he had drawn it out of her somehow, if he had chosen his words to lead them to this conclusion, and that she had fallen for it.  She wanted to reject the thought but it stuck regardless and took her breath away as she did her best to maintain composure.  It was too late to go back.  She found herself feeling oddly impressed even with the sinking feeling that began to grow in her chest that was mixed with a stubborn resolve.  She absolutely had to keep control of the situation, and not simply for her sense of pride.  She paused her thoughts and took in a few slow breaths, carefully measured, concentrating on the feel of it moving through her and suddenly she was regulated again.  The feeling of calm soothed her and she allowed herself a smile, something more of a smirk, and a moment longer to look at him.

He didn’t move immediately.  He chuckled, a deeper sound than she was used to, a laugh that seemed to take his whole body as they sometimes did, drawing in his hands and his shoulders in a pleasant tremor as if the glee had overwhelmed him before he pushed himself up to stand at her side, still for a moment.  She could see the brightness in his eyes as they moved from the shape between her hands along the surface of her gauntlet slowly, meticulously, and when it became clear that they would soon be on her face her eyes flicked abruptly back to her architecture.  The beat of her heart took a mutinous skip before she concentrated on it with a small frown and brought it back to its proper meter as his voice struck her ears again with a light taunt in the tone.

“Awful sure of yourself.”

Banter she could respond to.  Those sorts of words were easier with him, somehow.  “Or perhaps reasonably doubtful of your abilities.”  It came from her quickly and smoothly as though it had been waiting and there was satisfaction in that, at least.  She ignored the thought that perhaps the words had more bite than intended and that that, perhaps, held its own kind of meaning.

“Oof.”  He laughed again, a pleasant one that seemed delighted, and she released a breath with a slow count without having realized she had been holding it.  “That stings.”

He was out of her sight far too quickly and she was left with nothing to orient herself but the faint click of his peg leg as it struck the ground gently, the creak of the shocks, and suddenly there was a breath ghosting against her opposite shoulder where the fabric met her skin.  The movement seemed vaguely predatory and her jaw tensed against it before she reminded herself to move, to continue weaving as if he weren’t there and he weren’t close and he weren’t breathing light huffs of air over her skin in a way that made her concerned for whatever else might come after.  It wasn’t too difficult to push the thought away and she recalled the calm, satisfied with the ease with which she found it.

But he talked, of course.  It seemed as though it was impossible for him not to.  His voice was a murmur and it seemed as though she could feel it even without him touching her.

“Don’t remember much from after gettin’ me new tooth put in but I do remember sayin’ you were gorgeous, I think.”

She had been preparing for a physical onslaught, words had not been in the equation, although she should have assumed they would be.  Her brow furrowed gently as she attempted to recalibrate.  A part of her mused that there _must_ be some way to still his tongue and she had no doubt she could find it.  That particular thought did nothing to help the scenario and she snapped her attention back to her work.  The words were another thing to focus on and for a moment it felt as though her attention was being stretched thin.  But she adjusted, uncertain as to the topic but once settled not minding the words.  The change in mindset allowed her to move more easily, effectively adding more of the bones of the construct, the inside, the most complex pieces slowly coming together.

“Mm.  And also that you like the uniform.”

“I say that?”  He seemed almost surprised and she held back a laugh, pleased for some reason that he did not recall it.

“You did.”

“I say anythin’ else?”  His lips were suddenly on her skin, a soft brush of sensation, nothing more, and she felt her fingers flex from the surprise of it before they regained control and she hoped he hadn’t noticed the tremble in the hard-light edges, although she couldn’t be certain he was looking and it was subtle enough that she doubted he would know.  Her voice was more important and that, at least, she kept steady.

“You said quite a few things, although I believe on that topic that was all.”

“Good thing I didn’t mention that time in Egypt, then.  That gave me trouble for _week_ s.”  Egypt.  The fire fight, the adrenaline, the tumble through the teleporter.  Her body on top of his.  He didn’t need to elaborate.  She did not want to think about the nature of his ‘trouble’.

“… you did not mention that, no.”

She felt a light weight suddenly come to rest at her right hip, the prosthetic hand hesitant and tentative and his lips continued as he spoke, murmuring the words against her skin and tracing a line along her shoulder, unhurried.  “I do know I woke up in me undies, though.  Wasn’t sure how that happened.  Last thing I remember was you takin’ me to bed.” 

She could feel his lips curl upwards at the end of it and for a moment her mind scrambled to find its equilibrium.  It was the surprise of all of it, she realized, the fact that without seeing him she had no way to prepare for what was coming next, and she cursed the fact that her eyes needed to stay on her work or else she would lose.  His phrasing was obviously deliberate and she used the indignant fire it lit in her to steel her nerves, harnessing the emotion to allow herself to add a few more parts, and she pushed her breath out in a deep exhale that was clearly not a sigh but escaped as an indication of something better: exasperation.  “You insisted on removing your trousers.”

“… I have any help with that?”

“Absolutely not.”

He pulled away from her neck with a small sound of disappointment and she breathed more easily even while the hand at her waist became heavier, the metal of it a cool balm even through the fabric.  She allowed herself a faint smile of victory as her thumbs rolled in opposite directions of one-another and another strand of light came into being.  The more difficult parts of the architecture were far easier to create with more movement of her body, something like a dance, and though it felt as though it were risky his attention also seemed briefly elsewhere so she twisted her arms with a flourish, her hips moving with the motion.

“You coulda left, though.”

The low and earnest voice caused her movement to stiffen and her teeth were suddenly at her lower lip.  He had remembered more than she expected already, or at least pieced it together, and a concern began to well up in her at what else he might recall.  But she kept moving, determinedly, even if it wasn’t as loose and comfortable.  His breath was suddenly at her neck below the visor, below and behind her earpiece, nosing at it, and she was grateful suddenly that it covered her ears, protecting them from assault.  It was not a feature she had ever expected she would need.  It was sudden and unexpected and it caused her own breath to hitch only briefly before she caught it and ground the shock out of her voice with a force she was surprised she still had.

“Have you been thinking about this for two weeks?”

“Might’a been.”

She could feel a gentle pressure brushing against her side, the metal hand tracing the hem of her uniform upward along her body, his tone distracted and the movement idle as though he weren’t even aware of it.  A breath of air escaped her in a huff as she attempted to hold onto irritation… there was a reason for the tone of voice, something she was missing that he was withholding and she didn’t know why.  It was making her uncomfortable.

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

She should have known something dangerous was coming when he withdrew again with a low hum and she felt the light brush of something hard and sharp at her shoulder at the same moment his left hand found her other hip and held it closely, his fingers applying a light pressure against the fabric that forced a breath out of her.  He spoke with his teeth dragging gingerly against her skin and a harsh, hot breath of air following after and her eyes widened at the sensation.

“Because I was pretty sure I remembered the way you were lookin’ at me.”

Oh, gods.  It was precisely what she had feared and though she hadn’t at all thought it was subtle she also hadn’t thought it would make enough of an impression on his addled mind that he would recall it later.  Mortification set the tips of her ears burning and the air that escaped her felt like defeat and it took her voice with it in a tone that sounded ever so slightly flustered, a denial that was ridiculous, enough so that she winced at herself because of it.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t miss a beat.  Like he knew she would say it.  “Kinda like today.”

He paused and she had no answer for him.

The teeth pressed a bit harder against her skin though still gentle as his fingers curled more tightly against her hips as well and he began a traverse from her shoulder to her neck with small nips that drew a faint shudder from her that she cursed inwardly with such force that it almost escaped her.  Her fingers curled unintentionally and nearly ruined one side of the shape, the glowing blue cloud flickering gently for a moment before it stabilized and she forced herself to release a shaky breath and refocus on the work.  It was successful enough for her to add another side, the skeletal inner workings complete and only the casing remaining.  Simple enough, except that his words drifted into her ears again.

“Still don’t know how ya do that.”

He had been watching.  She gritted her teeth to keep herself from saying anything until she pulled herself back under control, a process which was thankfully brief.  “Perhaps I can try to explain it to you someday.”

“You could do it now.”

There was nothing sly in his voice anymore, nothing devious that she could detect and that in itself concerned her.  It was certainly a ploy to further stretch her attention, but his tone seemed to indicate a simple, genuine desire to know and she closed her eyes against the thought for a moment as she tried to decipher it with a gently furrowed brow.  It was unexpected, again, and she felt as though every time she found her footing he took it away.  It was easier and safer to think of it as a trick.  It was not terribly surprising when his lips were at her neck again.  ~~~~

The chuckle she offered him was low and calm and she thanked the gods for it.  If he truly intended to continue it would tax her concentration, perhaps moreso than she would be able to hide between building a complex structure and attempting to find a way to explain such an esoteric process.  She had difficulty sometimes explaining her methods even to architechs in training.  Attempting to find a way to satisfactorily explain to a novice—one who was attempting to drive goosebumps to her skin—could be beyond her under the circumstances.  It may have been offering some form of defeat but she knew if she accepted the challenge she would more than likely not able to form the words, which would be far worse.

“I think that would likely be a fruitless endeavor, particularly as you seem to be otherwise occupied.”

His head was buried in the crook of her neck, his lips mouthing gently at the flesh behind her ear and his voice was muffled because of it but far too audible even so.  “I’m good at multitaskin’.  C’mon, love.  Gimme a try.”

She felt a slow pull back of her hips until his own were nestled against her, a sudden pressure that she hadn’t expected.  It had been remarkably subtle or perhaps her distraction was simply too strong, so much that she failed to notice until her balance felt slightly off and he was there, his body pressed close against her own, the warmth of him not unwelcome even with the humidity of the air around them.  The temptation to let herself fall back into it was strong enough that her eyes slipped closed in an attempt to block it out but it was a mistake; her other senses picked up where her sight left off.  He had begun moving his hands, the digits of his fingers drifting carefully but more firmly up her body from her hips, pulling the fabric of her uniform slightly upwards as they went and snaking around to her front, taking a path from her hips to her belly, her abdomen to her ribcage, pulling her back against himself all the while with no clear intent of stopping.  His body bent to give his lips access to her skin, a wet heat indicating not just his lips but his tongue and the goosebumps came anyway despite the heat and her eyelids cracked open just enough to bring the world swimming back into view.

She was losing and while a part of her recognized it with sudden dismay the rest of her was too preoccupied by the strange detachment of it, the arch of her back that she had somehow failed to notice, the shortness of her breath.  The shimmer of the construct between her fingers.

The construct.

She could see the trembling edge to it, uneven, misaligned, as though brought into being by a drunk creator and pang of something struck her dully, only half-felt in her mind.  She grasped it desperately and pulled the feeling close to herself with a deep breath, encouraging it, drawing it out, and her eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and triumph as the shape corrected, her fingers working over it without touching it in familiar gestures.  His lips were pressed against her skin as he suckled at the curve of her neck and she brought the construct to life, pulling it out of thin air.  Perhaps her breath was too short still, and perhaps she was still pressed hard against him, but she held a hard-light object in her hands that matched that of the blueprints and it was firm and solid and something to hold onto.

There were mistakes in it, she was certain of that.  Nothing that would render it unworkable, she thought, but mistakes all the same.  The important part was that it was nothing he would notice; it was good enough to be convincing and her eyes narrowed gently in satisfaction as she focused on it rather than the warmth of his hands at her sides.  It was only meant to be a prototype, anyway.

The relief drained the tension from her body and left her to fall back against him, inadvertent but there all the same, her head tipping to the side of its own volition to expose more of her neck, an opportunity that he took immediately with long, slow kisses that she instantly regretted.  Her voice was not entirely solid but she didn’t care—it was solid enough, and she had finished the work after all.  It came with a satisfied chuckle, if a bit breathless.

“Jamie—”

A noise, something low, was pulled from him at the sound of his name on her lips, part question but mostly indulgence and she allowed herself a moment to savor it, her lips curling in a smile that turned immediately wry.

“Are you finished?”

“Mmf?”  She could hear the mild confusion in his voice, a dazed but unconcerned tone that didn’t falter even as she collected herself and stood straight, the action pulling her away from his body.  He followed after immediately, as if automatically, his hands dragging across the fabric covering her stomach to allow his arms to curl around her, keeping her close.  But he lifted his head away from her slowly and, she imagined, with regret, and his absence left a void that felt cool in its place.

“Because I am.”  She examined the hard-light object still in her hands for a moment with a deep breath, admiring it despite its imperfection, and released her breath as a sigh as she placed it down gingerly on top of her plans.  He didn’t move for a moment and she didn’t either even given the awkwardness of her position—uncertain what to do with her hands, unwilling to force him away—but he eventually pulled away from her, slowly and hesitantly. 

“Reckoned it would take you a little longer…"

The tone of his voice was disappointed and sour in a way that was surprisingly amusing.  He sounded more or less collected but she was satisfied to see that there was color to his cheeks when she turned to look at him and the way his hair had fallen into disarray was remarkably appealing.  Despite the tone he didn’t seem at all upset, although he did seem softer somehow.  She imagined it was likely the dissatisfaction of not having succeeded.

“Perhaps you should not have spent so much time talking.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”  It was pleased with itself without being cocky and he smiled, the crooked nature of it making it look even more awkward, and when she merely watched him with a faint smirk on her lips he continued after gently clearing his throat.  “If ya think about it, I came in second place.”

She laughed, a derisive little thing that had a note of fondness to it all the same.  “Inaccurate.  That is not how this works.”

“I don’t even get a consolation prize?”  There was a pout to it, exaggerated, she thought, for effect. 

She considered him for a long moment in which he simply stared at her, the tips of his ears still a bright pink, and she allowed herself a quick glance towards the door.  He had lingered close, his thumbs looped n his pockets as he watched her before she leaned abruptly forward, forced to her toes to reach him, her hands sliding along either side of his jaw to cup his face between them as she pressed her lips to his own.  They immediately parted in a surprised little gasp and she took advantage with her tongue, her body suddenly crushed against his as he closed the space between them in a way that left her pressed gently against the crates behind her.  It was fast and felt slightly desperate but his tongue moved over hers in a way that stole her breath and he laughed without pulling away, a stuttering thing tinged with disbelief followed by a murmur that he pressed against her lips.

“Do I get a round two?”

Despite her breathlessness she managed a dismissive chuckle and let her hands slide away from his jaw to find his chest, her palms pressing him gently away and she was pleased that it seemed easier than it truly was.  “I believe _I_ would get round two.” 

His eyes widened and it was anticipation there, she thought, an excitement behind them that was far more endearing than it should have been.  She hadn’t fully intended to imply there would be a ‘round two’ but the words were out and upon reflection she realized she was more than willing to continue.  To win unequivocally and offer some form of payback, albeit at some point in the future. 

She slid out from between him and the crates with a graceful sweep of her arm, pulling the hard-light structure from the surface as she did so and holding it up ostensibly for inspection but in truth simply for a reason to force her eyes to be somewhere other than on him and in a note that was perhaps as much for herself as it was for him she lowered her voice, glancing away from the hard-light construct just long enough to give him a meaningful look that dismissed the game, setting it to the side for another time if there was to be one.  “We have a job to do.  I suggest you focus.”

He tipped his head back with a loud, disagreeable groan but began trudging back towards the rip-tire, his lips curled downward in an exaggerated pout as he went.  “Sure, sure.  Sounds like somethin’ the monkey would say.  Keep it up and I might not be able to tell you apart.”

 

* * *

 

Round two came three days later in the workshop where she found him, his body bent over a work table scattered with freshly-made casings and small bowls and vials of powder.  The hour was ungodly and her intentions were no better as she slipped through the door with the gentle sound of a pneumatic hiss following her too soft, it seemed, to draw his attention.  He was alone and the space was quiet, the lights just slightly dimmed to better accommodate nighttime work, and with his head lowered in concentration she could better see the angles of his shoulder blades through the tank top and the quick, controlled movements of his arms as he distributed material in mixtures that she had no idea how he could possibly understand.  Nothing ever seemed to be labelled and for a moment she found herself concerned at the risk her interruption could pose but she imagined to him the differences were just as stark as the components of his boba tea were for her.

He only noticed her presence when she was nearly next to him and she slipped to a space aside the workbench, her arms crossing gingerly over her chest and her hip pressed against the edge of the hard surface before he could even offer her a greeting.  A pair of welding goggles still rested atop his head, his hair slicked back, and to her dismay she noted a thin layer of soot or powder in it and, upon inspection, worked into the pads of his fingers.  It should have been no surprise.  Aside from being a workplace hazard she supposed it wouldn’t hinder any of her plans and a glance down to where she had leaned against the workbench proved that that spot, at the very least, was clean, and he seemed to have moved on from the vials of powder to the cup of ball bearings in front of himself, intent on setting them into the circular track.  One of the non-lethal mines.  She was surprised he was still making them.  He hadn’t expected to see her if his reaction was any indication, and it was endearing the way his features lit up at the sight of her, something she had yet to get used to.

“Well, g’day.”

Her lips curled upward in a smile at the words and she responded in kind, more innocently than she had intended to.  “Good evening.” 

The goggles atop his head somehow lent a wild look to him and he blinked, raising his eyes to look around the room as if it might somehow give him an answer to the question he was clearly mulling over.  “Awful late, ain’t it?”

There was no point denying the hour so she didn’t bother, rolling a careless shrug along her shoulders instead.  “Or morning, if you prefer.”

A faint giggle welled up from his throat, the sort that took over his shoulders and forced a broad grin onto his features.  “Would’ve expected you to be asleep.”  There was an edge of fondness to it, or at least she thought so, and although his grin had been lopsided before it turned a bit moreso, lending it something of an awkward look, but the expression continued to change as she watched silently, fascinated and happy enough to simply let him work through whatever thought had occurred to him.  She lofted an eyebrow gently as he found something like words and uttered them in a voice that started off low before returning to his normal tenor.

“Oh.”  He looked around the room once again before reiterating the thought and chased after it with another, higher-pitched giggle.  “ _Oh_.  Bet you’re here for your round two, yeah?  Late at night, nice an’ quiet, nobody around.  Makes sense.  Tell me I’m right.”  His left hand had curled more tightly around the casing he held in it as the grin somehow managed to widen at the prospect of having guessed correctly and she allowed her expression to fall into a smirk as she lowered her eyes to the floor to hide the affection in them, unwilling or unable to deny it. 

“Fantastic detective work.”  Her voice was soft despite her attempt to impart it with something wry and she gathered herself together after, steeling her resolve.

He stood up straight, the posture pushing his chest forward, and looked down at her with a smile that was quickly becoming something smug.  It was galling that he had beaten her to the expression.  “Can’t pull one over on Jamison Fawkes.  You’re in for a challenge, love.  Unlucky for you I’m workin’ on somethin’ simple, too.”  He looked at the metal in his hand and gave it a gentle shake that made her wince out of concern for whatever was inside, but he seemed to notice as he dropped the look for a moment and fixed the smile to something crooked and reassuring.  “No worries, nothin’ that can go all explodey without fire, not yet anyway.  Don’t set any of those and we’re aces.”

Her relief was buried under her recovered sense of purpose and she looked at him with a calculated smirk before allowing her eyes to wander over him as though taking in points of weakness.  Or simply admiring the view.  “If I’m at such a disadvantage I suppose I will simply have to try harder, then.”  Her eyes returned to his own, gazing up at him from under her lashes and for a moment he paused, merely staring back.  It was satisfying to see the way the color crept across his cheekbones before he brought the expression under control and curled his lips upward in an expression to match her own with words she was absolutely certain he would regret.

“A’right, love.  Do your worst.”

It sent a satisfied shock through her, her eyes narrowing gently at the challenge and her lips parted with a smile.  Her arms unfurled from her chest as she slipped off of her space at the workbench, one hand raised in a dismissive gesture before she idly wove a small shape between her fingers simply for the ability to do so.  He was looking at her, closely, paying her too much attention, and she drew him back to the task at hand with an imperiously lofted eyebrow.

“I believe you are supposed to be working.”

The laugh was brief but deeply amused and he turned his body fully back towards the workbench with a hard tilt of his head in either direction that drew quiet _pop_ s from his neck as though he were preparing for some kind of battle and the anticipation on his face was unmistakable even buried by self-assuredness as it was.  “Right.  Fair’s fair.  S’pose I better get back to it, then.”

It was a natural movement to follow the path of her left hand and slip behind him, the touch never leaving him, following the thin strip of skin between his tank top and sweatpants along the contours of his back until it was at his left side.  Her right hand found his hip, pressed lightly against the bone, settled on the top of the muscled line that dipped downward in an appealing ‘v’.  She could feel the chuckle better than she could hear it, a somewhat deeper thing than normal that echoed in his chest.

“Y’know… that last round?”

It would be unexpected if he _didn’t_ talk, but the words begged for a response and she supposed it was only fair that she gave him something.  A questioning sound came from her, nothing but a quiet ‘hm?’ of acknowledgment, and it seemed it was all he needed to go on.  She could see the edges of his expression, the angle and her position leaving most of it out of sight, but the grin was obvious in the way it rested on his cheekbones and his eyes seemed as though they were half-lidded.  It was a self-confident look she was certain, and his tone was set to match as he lowered his voice for a moment.

“I was watchin’.  What you were makin’.  Hard-light ain’t my area of expertise but I’ve never seen the edges shake like that.”

She supposed it was meant to throw her off balance but she only raised an eyebrow gently in a look he couldn’t see and curled her lips over the words, speaking them against his skin as she pulled her own body against him to nestle softly against his back.  It didn’t seem to affect him but that wasn’t a concern. 

“Is that so?”

“Yup.”

Her hands moved from their places at his hips and the left pressed up at the fabric of his shirt, lifting it as it went to expose his skin to the cool air of the room, fingers splaying as if to touch as much of him as possible.  The right snaked across the curve of his stomach, fingers pointed like a spade and the reach required her to press herself against him fully and she did so with a low, appreciative hum.  Being even closer meant that she could see so little of his face.  Lamentable, but necessary.  She would have to go on his voice and whatever other sounds she could pull from him.  There was a faint twitch of the muscles under her hand but his voice remained perfectly level as he went on, metal fingers switching to a screwdriver and left hand still solid on the casing.

“I reckon that’s a pretty good indication I had you on the run.”

Concession meant little to her, particularly with what she had in mind, and so she gave it to him, playing along, unconcerned.  He didn’t seem to notice the quiet in her or the danger of it.  “Hm.  I suppose you did.” 

A pleased giggle bubbled out of him with her response and he went silent for a moment as he continued to work, returning the screwdriver to the workbench and changing his focus to popping one of the ball bearings inside the track.  Her touches had had little reaction so far; she had found his baseline and so she took a slow breath and set the plan in motion.

The fingers at his chest pressed lightly against his flesh leaving faint indents in their wake as her right hand began drifting slowly but deliberately across his body, taking its time as it moved down his abdomen before reaching his belly button and the thin trail of hair that began just below.  He didn’t respond immediately.  The flat of her palm crept lower until the tips of her nails were inches away from the waistband of his sweatpants, and as her reach continued downward she felt his breath pull as he released a laugh that was much higher in pitch, abruptly beginning to sound slightly anxious.  She watched what she could see of his face closely and saw his chin dip as he made the mistake of glancing down and she felt a light shudder of the breath in his chest.

“Uhm…”

It was curious, just how much she could read of him without even seeing his face.  The lowering of his chin, the tension in his jaw, all seeming to indicate he was watching her hand closely.  Words seemed to have temporarily failed him with the shock of it and he giggled again—an uneven-sounding thing—before he managed to pull his thoughts together.  His hands, she was satisfied to note, seemed to have forgotten what they were doing and were frozen mid-air, holding loosely onto the casing between his fingers.

“At any rate, what I’m sayin’ is…”

When her fingertips reached the waistband of his sweatpants she paused, pulling herself closer to him before her hand carefully moved the fabric aside so that her fingertips could dip below it and continue to follow the trail of his skin.  His chin tipped to the side and she could see his brow lower as if in confusion.  Perhaps he still had delusions that she had any intention of stopping and each inch her hand drifted farther downward seemed to send him through another cycle of denial.

He was not, she was pleased to discover, wearing boxers.  A loud, desperate-sounding laugh burst from him as if it couldn’t be stopped and died out into nervous-sounding giggles followed by breathless attempts at words that all came to stuttering halts as her hand continued its path.  “That’s… heh… a’right, love, I dunno what you’re doin’ but—”

Her fingertips brushed against a patch of hair and his breath hitched and was held and she could tell he was staring wide-eyed down at the place where her hand disappeared below his sweatpants and he had gone perfectly still save for the beat of his heart, the pace skyrocketing suddenly, his jaw still tense.   A shudder ran over the muscles of his stomach against the heat of her forearm.  The casing was gripped tightly in his hand.  Her lips curled in a pleased smirk.  She reveled in the pause and it seemed to instill some courage and composure and he laughed once again, more quietly and uncertainly in what sounded almost like relief, his voice smoothing out even if his breaths were still a bit uneven.  “Really had me goin’, there…”

She might have felt sorry for him were it not so satisfying to witness.

The words came to an abrupt halt as her fingers moved gingerly through the fine curls, seeking him out with careful touches, unhurried.  As she grasped him in her hand he froze where he stood like a deer in headlights, stock-straight, eyes locked downward to where her fingers were curled around his cock under the fabric of his pants and his hands half-lifted as if he had intended to do something with them and had been stopped in mid-thought.  He had ceased to breathe and his pulse spiked against the fingers of her hand and she could feel it even in the gauntlet she had pressed close against his chest and she followed the sound of his shuddering breath as he released it in something that was half exclamation and half shocked whisper.  “Oh, christ…”

A pulse shot through him as she released him and instead ran the pads of her fingers along the sensitive skin, drawing a strangled sound from him, the words stopping before they started.  A laugh struggled its way out of his throat and escaped as something reedy and weak from the effort before he tried again.  There was no conviction in his voice, only a hazy kind of dissent, a feeble complaint to the mumble that she doubted he actually felt.  “… feels like this is cheatin’…”

“Hm.”  His tone had sent a thrill through her that she kept carefully from reaching her voice.  Even better, she thought, was the tremor that worked its way through him as she pulled her grip tighter and drew it upward, her palm sliding across the sensitive flesh already half-hard in her hand.  Two, three more slow movements and the bulge was no doubt visible, the waistband certainly pulled loose enough that he could catch glimpses of the way her fingers moved over his hardening length in slow strokes.  “That is not what it feels like to me.”

He still held the casing, she could tell as much, but his attention didn’t seem to be even remotely on it.  The breath he’d been holding was released in a strange, incredulous sound that hitched in his throat, part groan and part laugh that was immediately stifled as her fingers curled more tightly around him and she felt him jump in her hand.  It was the sight of it that seemed to be causing him the most trouble and she noted the fact carefully.  But his eyes slipped closed and a slow breath moved through him as she watched him and she could tell he was trying to regain his composure despite the difficulty of it.

He had been surprised, she supposed.  Surprise wasn’t what she wanted.  She wanted to utterly ruin him.  It seemed she would have to take additional steps to do so.

So she withdrew from him slowly, allowing her hands to drift away from his torso and the waistband to snap back in place as she brought her hand to the slim pocket at her hip to extract a small packet from it.  He spoke, of course.  She would have been surprised if he hadn’t.  It came with an awkward laugh, an airy thing, but one that still sounded vaguely triumphant all the same despite the slight stutter and breathlessness in his voice.

“Wasn’t expectin’—”

It wasn’t the words that made her interrupt him so brusquely but the way he had started to turn, the way she could see his eyes drifting to their corners.  It wouldn’t do even though her element of surprise had been squandered.

“Eyes forward, please.”

He stopped abruptly, blinked, and she could see the furrow develop on his brow before he turned his chin forward obediently.  She could hear the sullen murmur that drifted to her ears all the same and as he lowered his arms with a tentative glance downwards and a somewhat shaky breath, holding the metal between both hands as his posture turned to something that almost seemed dejected, yet still a bit breathless.

“Y’know I’m startin’ to wonder if I like this game or not.”

She ignored him.  Her attention was on the packet between her fingers, ripped delicately open as he spoke in the hopes of keeping it quiet, the thumb and forefinger of her prosthetic hand pushing the substance inside out onto the skin of her palm, slick and warm from her pocket.  It was an unpleasant sensation and one she had hoped to avoid but he had left her with little option and she considered it for a moment before dropping the spent packet unceremoniously to the floor and stepping forward again.

He made a quiet sound as she pressed back against him abruptly, an ‘oof’ of surprise that was neither pleased nor displeased, and her gauntleted hand resumed its place at his chest, lifting his shirt again to do so.  There was nothing particularly sensual about the way that her hand slipped back beneath the fabric of his sweatpants but she was certain there didn’t need to be, and when she quickly took him in her hand again, the warm slickness of the lubrication on her fingers, he pulled in a breath of air between his teeth and stiffened under her palm.  It was what she was hoping for, or at least a step in the right direction.  It took only a few slow strokes to draw a sound from him, a moan that began in his gut before he smothered it in his chest, a vibration she could feel against her cheek, and she allowed herself a faint smirk as she gripped him more tightly and slicked her hand down the length of him a bit more quickly, hoping to draw the sound from him again.  She received something else for her efforts--an abrupt quickening of his breath--and she supposed it would have to do.  He had tipped his chin downward again and was watching and the words sounded weak with something almost like panic.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell…”

She pressed the self-satisfied smile against his shoulder blade and breathed hot against the bare skin.  It drew a twitch through him that was immensely gratifying, moreso than she would have expected, and she kept her voice a low murmur, a tone that could be mistaken for kindness if he didn’t know any better, loud enough to hear only due to the quiet of the room.  “Is this better?”

His hips angled forward and she couldn’t be sure if he realized it or not, although she doubted it had been intentional and it caused a spike of heat to dash through her that she had somehow previously managed to avoid as a small tremor worked through him causing the muscles of his stomach to twitch, an attempt to stop himself from thrusting into her hand that was not quite successful. She could feel his pulse quickening between her fingers and his breaths had begun to escape ragged and a laugh escaped him, mostly air and sounding desperate as he raised his eyes to her own.  “I’m cryin’ uncle here, love.”

It wasn’t enough for him to admit defeat.  She wanted more than that.  Without releasing him she pulled away scant inches to move around his body, to place herself in front of him, to pin herself between him and the workbench and she gazed up at him with a faint smile as she stroked him again with a sly curl of her lips.  He breathed a quiet sigh as if the life had been sucked out of him as he looked at her and she was beyond satisfied to note the way his eyelids fluttered as though he were having trouble keeping them open.

“Does that mean you wish for me to stop—”

“No.”

The answer came almost before she could finish her sentence, gasped out of him, and it wasn’t at all what she had expected.  She had thought she would see him weigh his pride, state some denial or grudgingly requesting her to continue, not the unabashed eagerness of his response, not the suggestion that perhaps he had forgotten about the game entirely.  It sent a shock through her, a bolt that made her forget for a moment what she was doing and had intended to do and her grip on him tightened, drawing a low groan from somewhere in his chest.  It was fascinating.  It had been exactly what she wanted.  She failed to notice how much it was affecting her.

It was a deviation from the plan but she pulled him closer by the shirt and raised her gauntlet to his neck, cupping the curve of it between her fingers as she stood on tip-toes to place kisses along his jaw and he made a soft, needy sound between his panting breaths.  She had settled his hips against her own, her hand and his manhood pressed close between them, the lubrication on her fingers somehow forgotten as she withdrew from his neck to watch the expression on his face.  His eyes had slipped closed, there was a furrow of effort on his brow and his lips had been forced apart to accommodate his quick breaths and she suddenly felt him stiffen in her hand, his eyes opening and focusing dreamily on hers in a look of absolute defeat.

He was beginning to fall apart in front of her eyes and he was far closer than she had intended to bring him.  She paused, the movement of her hand coming to a slow and careful stop, and he shifted his weight, angled his body slowly toward her, his left hand still gripping the mine casing as though it was a lifeline as his right curled at her hip, the metal digits pressed tight against the fabric leaving thin grey marks in their wake from the powder and her nose wrinkled gently in displeasure at the thought that it would have to be washed again, the realization that the front of the garment would likely need to be washed more carefully as well bringing her slowly back to reality.  He leaned in with the clear intent to kiss her, his eyes slipping shut.  She held up the gauntlet, matching his slow pace, bringing it up in front of herself, and his face collided against it with an only minorly-surprised sounding ‘mmf’, his mind too muddled to process the disappointment.

Her hand slipped from the waistband of his sweatpants to let the elastic fall back against his skin with a snap as she pulled away.  The curiosity was still there as she withdrew at the idea of what might have happened had she continued, the feeling stubborn as she moved away, a motion that she had planned to be abrupt and concise but had lingered instead, not entirely convinced she wanted to.  She slid out from under his arms and circled around the back of him as she gingerly pulled a wipe from her pocket with the gauntlet.  She was dismayed to note the powder on the prosthetic as well.  Still, she went about the task of cleaning off her hand and tried not to think too hard on any one thing.  She had planned to be able to smile in satisfaction, to avoid looking at him, but her cheeks were burning too much to allow it and she released a small breath of air instead.

“I believe this means I win.”

He had turned, she could see as much in her peripheral vision, and she knew he was staring at her so she drew the self-satisfied smile to her lips anyway as she pulled the wipe away from her fingers and dropped it imperiously on the floor.  Everything in the plan felt as though it had gone off somehow and so while she hadn’t intended to the temptation to look at him was too strong and so she glanced fully over her shoulder.  He was standing with his hands to his sides, partially lifted, his left still curled tightly over the casing and the fingers of the right flexed as if still not having recovered from her suddenly withdrawing and leaving it empty.

His voice left him in a disoriented murmur and she may have felt guilty were it not for the tinge of horror in his tone, an immensely gratifying thing.  “You’re a bloody monster, ya know that, right?”

She turned away from him and only allowed herself the faint smile once her features were out of sight and she moved toward the door, making sure that her hips swayed with each step as she called carelessly over her shoulder.  “You ought to get some sleep.  We have a briefing in the morning.”

A second thought occurred to her and she paused as she reached the door, pressing the entrance button, the panel sliding gently open in front of her before she stepped out into the hallway.  “And don’t use that mine.  I’m fairly certain it’s not safe.”

She was out the door before she could hear a response, although she somehow doubted there was one.

It was difficult, training her steps, keeping an even pace, keeping her head lifted and her breath even until she was out of sight of the workshop, past the windows, and free from the possibility that his eyes might still be on her.  And then it hit her, faster than she was ready for.  It forced her feet to a stop.

The plan had been clean, in theory.  Efficient and effortless and something she could wash her hands of afterward—both literally and figuratively.  But her heart was beating faster than it ought to and her thoughts felt muddled and redundant—stuck retracing the same steps… the small sounds… the warmth of him… the way he had _looked_ at her.

She had stopped for far too long and started, reality rushing back and her cheeks burning and she looked over her shoulder to be sure she was still alone, breathing a deep sigh of relief only once certain he was still out of sight.

It shouldn’t have, but in some ways it felt like a retreat, the way her footsteps took her a bit too quickly down the hallway until she reached her room and slipped inside, safe in the dark quiet from everything except her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is new for me... 
> 
> I haven't ever done smut before so (gentle) constructive criticism would be welcome and my main concern is that it might have dragged. There's a lot of words here and I'm really hoping it didn't get boring.
> 
> basically feedback might affect how the next chapter (which is actually already written) goes. this... actually wasn't even the smut chapter..... coughwheeze........... 
> 
> At any rate, hello Satya go-for-the-jugular Vaswani. Also could be filed under 'congratulations Jamie, you played yourself'.
> 
> Also, sorry this took so long. I sort of had a break-in in which most of my valuable stuff (including my laptop) was stolen and I lost a lot and it took me a while to recover from that in a variety of ways.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been nearly a week since the late night in the workshop and it had been too busy, the missions had been too long, the base had been too full to allow for time alone.  Even if there had been time the idea of visiting him in his room felt a bit strange, an emotion she couldn’t quite describe, and the idea of inviting him to her own felt far too personal somehow and slightly dangerous, however ridiculous the thought may be.  Each time she thought about it it came with both an excitement and a spike of unease that she had to push gingerly away so she had decided to avoid it. He hadn’t invited her over again anyway.  But there had been a muted thrill running in an undercurrent in her blood for days at the prospect of seeing Jamison again somewhere she couldn’t be interrupted, in taking full stock of him, seeing the results of the night in the workshop more closely.  She had revisited the events mentally, double-checked them under the light of day, and more than a small part of her had reveled in the whole of it.  The victory, of course, but other things, some slightly more troubling.  The way he had felt in her hand, the hard movement of his muscles under her palm, the way his pulse spiked when she touched him.  How difficult it had been for her to stop. 

Upon further reflection the night in the workshop may have been a mistake.  It had been backfiring spectacularly, occupying her mind and conjuring dreams that were far from innocent.  The thought of him finishing what she had started was unhelpful and seemed to come to the forefront of her mind whenever he was present.  He’d taken to staring perhaps too openly with a half-lidded gaze that she thought could be interpreted as a strange mix of both hope and longing, without looking away when she caught him, holding her gaze for too long instead.  She couldn’t help but stare back, even though she tried not to.  She always looked away first. 

It was early when she found him alone again, entirely unintentionally.  They had returned from a mission the night before, arriving back late, and had been told that despite the hour there would be a briefing in the morning.  While the base was quiet with the majority of the team still in bed she had gotten up at her usual time.  Routine was comfortable and she preferred it even to a full night of sleep, so she made her way to the shower with the intent of waking herself up more effectively.  It was always soothing, and the hour of the briefing was still far away so she took her time, letting the patter of the water on her scalp to drive out all thoughts but a select few.  It went to predictable places, circling back around to the workshop and Jamison. 

She closed her eyes but the image of him staring at her with that look that verged on desperation persisted and she hesitated, weighing the wisdom of allowing herself to continue along the same train of thought.  There was a crossroads between better sense and desire and she mused over it before slowly and carefully giving her mind the freedom to drift back, attempting to keep it under control as she turned her thoughts to him.  Indulging herself a bit could hurt nothing, after all, and she attempted to ignore the dull ache the vision had set in her.  His surprise had been the most satisfying, she thought, or perhaps the small sounds he had made as her hand worked him, or the look on his face, self-confident, verging on gloating at first but failing rapidly, his resolve quickly burning to the ground.

It had been cruel of her to leave him, she knew, but it was also a part of the game—the most important part, actually.  She had wanted him to ask for her to continue but she knew that if she had it may have become a new game, one involving who could make the other one fall apart first.  A different game entirely.  She had quit while she had the upper hand but realized if placed in the situation on even ground she wasn’t certain if she would have succeeded so easily, not once the rules of the game had changed so dramatically.  Or maybe she was the one who had changed them by choosing the tactic she had.  A tinge of irritation came to her at the thought but upon brief, regrettable reflection she couldn’t help but wonder if she would have changed anything about it.  A small but insistent part of her suggested she wouldn’t have.

She realized she had been in the shower far longer than was sensible and it had done little good to clear her mind.  So she turned off the water and peeled back the curtain to step into the changing room, wrapping the towel around herself after drying off.  She preferred not to put the uniform on immediately, not while still damp, and so she pulled the second curtain gently open to step out into the room, intent on combing through her hair in front of the mirror.

The noise of the shower had drowned out the distinctive clack of his peg leg and she was not at all certain of when he had come in, but Jamison was standing at the sinks, thin lines of shaving cream on his chin and jaw.  It was far too early for him.  She wondered if he had slept at all and puzzled over the fact that he was there when very few others on the base would even be up yet.  He didn’t notice her, not immediately, engrossed in the task of shaving and nearly done.

His hair was still in slight disarray and the sweatpants sat low on his hips, the tank top hugging the form of his chest loosely in its typical fashion and she hesitated, not certain she wanted to disturb him but unable to keep away.  She moved slowly into his field of view in the mirror, watching him closely, surprised at how long it took him to notice.  Under other circumstances she might retreat, put on her clean uniform, and finish the rest of her routine in her quarters, but as it was Jamison was standing at the sink as-of-yet unaware of her and the idea of speaking with him was too hard to resist.

When he finally recognized her presence his face brightened immediately but the look to him changed once he noted the towel, her wet hair, the gentle white of her gauntlet holding the fabric in place across her chest.  He was left with a blank look and the razor in his hand, forgotten.  It didn’t take him too long to find a greeting.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning.  Did you sleep well?”

Something seemed off somehow as he gathered himself, a nervous energy in him, noticeable in the way his jaw tightened and the tense curve of his shoulders.  His manner of speaking and the way his eyes flitted away from her before returning felt somehow cagey and she watched him more closely as he considered his answer, his lips still curled upward in a slightly wild looking grin.  But as the seconds ticked by his features began to smooth out, his expression calming slightly and the motions of his body slowed, soothed by something.  The circles under his eyes and the calm better suited his words.

“Had kinda a rough night.  Been havin’ a lot of ‘em, actually.”

She glanced towards the door before stepping forward and finding her own place at the sink, close, her position not entirely innocent but innocent enough and easily adjusted should anyone walk in.  He may have picked up on it; he moved his stare from her to her reflection in the mirror and went about the rest of his routine seeming a bit rushed.  It was vastly entertaining, watching him watching her.  Entertaining and appealing, the way his throat exposed itself, and she couldn’t help the wry little smile that pulled at the corners of her lips, her eyelids falling with it to gaze at him in a languid stare, her weight slowly shifting to one side of her hips. 

“Hm.”  There was an amusement to her tone that she didn’t bother hiding and her smile broadened as she briefly distracted herself, tucking the fabric of the towel under itself so that it would stay wrapped around her on its own.  She could feel him watching her closely until her eyes raised again and he looked away once more with a guilty stare pointed toward himself in the mirror.  “Is that so?”

He bounced a bit on his toes, the peg leg creaking quietly with the movement before he pulled himself together and there was a flush on his cheeks as he pulled the razor across his skin, leaving only one thin strip of shaving cream left.  The laugh that came after was jumpy in a way that was different than before and he kept his eyes averted, pointed resolutely forward.

“Yup.”  He giggled, a high-pitched thing that trailed out with a deeply exhaled breath, and he sounded amused, the tone overwhelming the feigned bafflement of it.  “Been havin’ trouble gettin’ me work done too, strangest thing.  Every time I try my brain goes all funny.”

It felt safe, like she’d been saying the right things and his earlier state was some anomaly that she could discard.  So she did, the smirk growing as she turned her attention to the mirror and began combing her hair, keeping her eyes on her own reflection and his in her peripheral vision.  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

She heard the quiet snort and it was followed after quickly by a barely-audible mumble that sounded admonishing all the same, his voice pitching upward with it before dropping once again.  “Liar, liar.”

She looked away to stare at him in the mirror and he was staring back, the bright and innocent look traded in for something different.  Something intense.  He had finished shaving and set the razor down and after a moment longer he turned his attention to the sink and abruptly turned on the water and lowered his face to rinse away what was left of the shaving cream.  She watched him closely as he glanced toward the door as well, the look he had given her still fresh in her mind.  It was a hungry thing that had taken him over, something she hadn’t expected or seen before, and she felt a flush of heat move through her body before her eyes turned back to her own reflection.  She wanted to be satisfied, knowing the effect that she had had on him, and she was, but it was beginning to feel overwhelmed by something else.  His voice came to her slowly, as though she were hearing him through a fog, but the words brought her back to the present quickly.

“So.  When’s the next round?  Think it’s my turn, ain’t it?”

Her voice lowered with an incredulous tip of her head as she looked back to him, and while her tone wasn’t cruel it was by no means gracious.  “You’ve _lost_.”

“Best three out of five?” 

She pulled her eyes away but could feel the smile growing and was helpless to stop it.  It felt right and so she finally allowed it with a breath of air that she attempted to make wry with little success.  “Do you truly wish to lose again?”

She could feel the long stare and it continued until she shifted her eyes back to his in the mirror and she could see the color in his cheeks and the small, crooked smile, his eyes half-lidded in a look that was unmistakably sultry.  “I might try to lose a little harder.”

A chuckle welled up from her.  “You’ll never get your work done.”

He rolled a casual shrug over his shoulders and didn’t look away.  “I was never much good for it anyway.”

“That I very much disagree with.”  Her words were candid and felt out of place, but his own had struck her and she felt the need to amend them.  He had begun to sidle closer, closing the inches between them one by one with his body still turned forward as though if he faced the mirror she might somehow fail to notice his proximity.  And he was watching her as the distracted sound came from him, a questioning thing that made it seem as though the answer was inconsequential to him, lost to his preoccupation with her, and quite possibly it was.

“Hm?”

She smiled, an eye narrowing gently as she watched him in the mirror, the comb moving slowly once again through her hair.  “From what I have seen your work is exemplary, for your needs at the very least.”

The words jogged him, pulled him slightly from his distraction, but he was close and his body had shifted, turned slightly towards her while he was still watching her intently in the mirror.  “Now you’re just bein’ nice.”

Her voice was softer than she had intended it to be as the comb stalled at shoulder-height, forgetting the task at hand.  “I assure you I am not.”

“Heh.”  The laugh was immediate, baffled and a bit overwhelmed, and he’d turned his attention away from the mirror entirely and to her instead, his eyes wide and a growing tension in his shoulders.  They stared at each other in absolute silence for a long moment. 

It was slow at first and then faster than she could prepare for, the way he moved.  He stepped in and kissed her, hard and hungry, hand cupping her jaw and fingers tangled lightly in the wet strands of her hair and his prosthetic tugging at her waist dangerously through the towel.  She heard a soft noise of surprise escape her, a little gasp of air, but she dropped the comb to the countertop and her hands were pulling at his shirt to bring him closer, her feet on tip-toes to accommodate for his height.  It was a breathless instant before his lips left her own and his body bent to place hasty kisses against her neck and when she felt a familiar pull at her skin she curled her fingers in her hair and pulled him away gently, fixing him with a look of reproach as he turned his eyes towards her in confusion.

“You left _marks_ the last time.”

“Shit.  Did I?”

Her hard stare was enough of an answer, her eyes narrowed in a challenging look, and he went on with a lopsided, apologetic little smile.

“Sorry, love.  Must’ve gotten a little carried away.”

A significant part of her didn’t mind it but they had been too noticeable for a day or two, a little trail of darker spots down the curve of her neck and an inconvenient reminder each time she looked in the mirror, although easily covered by simply wearing her hair down.  The truth was she had brushed the strands back once or twice in her quarters to consider them and it wasn’t for concern of covering them up.  It was curious, the way she felt about them.  She hadn’t been able to settle on any single emotion.

It was something like pride in his expression when he carefully swept her hair out of the way and lifted his prosthetic hand to run a metal thumb gently across where the marks might have been, though they were long since faded.  The rubber pad stuttered against her skin; it was an odd sensation but not entirely unpleasant, and her teeth found her lower lip as she looked up at him, his pupils blown wide and dark and his own lips parted in an unfocused, crooked little smile.

It was a long moment, and were it not for the location she wouldn’t mind letting it continue.

Better sense dictated caution, however, and she pulled back and away with a careful grasp of the towel around herself.  His hands fell back as he let her go, still staring, and she let her eyes wander over him.  Hair mussed and wild from her pull, the smell of his shaving cream still fresh on his skin.  She took a step farther backward, away and towards the shower she had left and the changing room attached and managed to keep the regret from bleeding into her voice.

“I ought to get dressed.”

“I can help.”

His response was so quick she would have thought he knew beforehand what she was going to say and her feet paused as if unwilling to go until she forced them with a conscious effort.  “… somehow I think that would be counter-productive.”

“I could behave meself.”  He was following her in slow steps, some distance away but closing it, his tone and his gait casual and unhurried as he came to a stop in front of the changing room, his prosthetic hand lifting to press against the wall and allow him to lean towards her, a comfortable grin on his face as his eyes roved over the sight of her.  It was enough to draw a laugh from her, more breath than anything else, an uncharacteristically excitable sound that she wished she could have kept from passing her lips.

“I have my doubts.”

“Promise.”

She didn’t hear the sound so much as she saw the movement from the corner of her eye, the slow opening of the door and she pulled away quickly, withdrawing behind the wall of the changing room in one swift step, her hand raising reflexively to press against her lips as her eyes went wide.  Jamison was still there but had stood up straight in an abrupt motion at the same time that she retreated and the prosthetic hand he had pressed against the wall dropped, looped quickly in his pocket, the thumb shoved in the space awkwardly as he faced the door with a look she imagined was similar to her own. 

“Oh!  Good morning, Jamison.”  It was Lena’s voice, bubbly as ever, and Satya’s hand pressed more tightly against her mouth as she felt a heat growing across her cheeks.

“G’day!”  It was a bit too enthusiastic and he rallied, pulled his lips upward in a grin that looked awkward and unconvincing and narrowed an eye as he tried to pull together the words he was looking for, ones that wouldn’t sound suspicious.  “… early, ain’t it?”

Lena’s voice drifted back quickly and energetically to Satya’s ears and thankfully at the same volume, apparently not yet coming any closer. 

“Especially after getting back so late.”  There was some hesitance there, enough that Satya could hear it, and something a bit less cheerful as the woman went on.  “I had some trouble sleeping.  I think everyone else is still out, though.”  Her tone was friendly as always and it dropped a bit lower as she went on.  “… did you get a chance to speak with Winston?”

Jamison laughed, a single, stiff ‘heh’ and something about it seemed uncomfortable at the question and Satya wasn’t certain why.  It explained why he was awake, at least, and she supposed his discomfort was perfectly reasonable considering the situation.  She attempted to ignore her own and focus on keeping quiet, on monitoring the beating of her heart.

“Yup.  Got everythin’ squared.”

“Good.  I _am_ sorry for the short notice, and that you had to get out of bed so early for it.”

“No worries.”  His words chased after hers quickly enough to make him sound impatient, as though he were eager to dismiss the topic, and he was left standing there with a slightly unconvincing grin.

It was curious.  But her mind was too preoccupied with other things to give it the attention it deserved.  In spite of the scenario and her distraction it was difficult not to appreciate the look of him and the way his chest rose and fell with slightly quickened breaths.  Her hand still covered her mouth as if she didn’t trust herself as she listened, curled back against the wall out of sight and too terrified of making noise to move and her breath stopped when Lena’s voice came to her ears again.

“… were you going to take a shower?”

He hadn’t moved from his place in front of the changing room and suddenly seemed to realize the precariousness of his position.  There would be little sense in him standing there otherwise.  For a second he looked shocked as though the answer was beyond him and her heart beat in her chest more strongly with trepidation over what he might say but he pulled himself together with a blink and a broad grin.  She thought she could see the cracks of nervousness at the corners.

“Yup!”  It was something more like a grimace than a smile, the way his features twisted, but he cringed and righted it.  “Just about to hop in.”

“Sorry, love!  I won’t keep you from it, then.”

“Ta.”

She could hear Lena moving and her heart jumped, and it seemed as though it had the same effect on Jamison, who stepped quickly forward into the changing room and swept the curtain shut behind him, too-fast, the metallic sound of it grating harshly against her ears and leaving her helpless to hear if Lena had given a reply.  But the room filled with the sound of the sink being turned on and Satya raised her eyes cautiously to look at Jamison, who was staring back at her in shocked, terrified silence.  She was forced to tilt her head upwards to look at him with him standing straight and herself standing in nothing but shower slippers, wrapped in the towel, the height of him not helping matters at all.

It was by no means a large space and they stood in front of one-another for a second longer before he moved without looking away, shuffling partially around her, leaving her to press herself gently against the opposite wall, and reaching behind the secondary curtain to fumble with the knob of the shower.  Soon enough the sound of falling water began to fill the room and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in relief.  He was still staring and she slowly removed her fingers from her mouth, her hand curling in front of her chest where the towel looped over itself instead.  His eyes roved over her in a way that sent a jolt through her and then he moved, the subtlest of things, a lowering of his eyes to her lips and a slight lean and she reached forward to curl her hands into fists in the fabric of his shirt once again.

They crashed together, his hands on her hips and his body pressing closer and the coolness of the wall a solid, steadying thing at her back.  The kiss was intense despite the need for quiet and she was pulling him close and his hands were moving, the touch firm against her hips and travelling upwards, taking the towel with it, the fabric slipping above her thighs, and though she had no way of knowing the intent it jarred her enough that she pulled back with a quiet gasp, an attempt to catch her breath and slow her heart.  It took him a moment to open his eyes and when he did he looked dazed and a bit confused, brow furrowed gently, hands stopped, and the towel back where it belonged across her legs.

He didn’t say anything but the look on his face was a wordless question and she calmed her breath, her hands leaving his jaw where they had somehow wandered to press gently against his chest, pushing him away even as she leaned in quickly to murmur a reiteration, an explanation into his ear.

“I should get dressed.” 

Something penetrated the fog that had overtaken him and she imagined it was disappointment, but his eyes didn’t leave her and he followed along obediently as she pushed him back and away towards the metal bench along the wall where he sat under her guidance, her hand on his shoulder to keep him there and the other around the towel wrapped across her chest to keep it in place.  It was easier to do than to tell, and so she lifted her hand away to gingerly brush it down over his face, indicating for him to close his eyes.  She was grateful for it when he did.

Still, there was an obvious restlessness there and it was somewhat endearing to see the effort he put into it—his features were pinched, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration and his lips pursed, as though it took constant vigilance to keep his eyes shut.  His foot began tapping lightly on the ground as she quickly pulled her panties and bra from the stack of clothes beside him and slipped them on with an efficiency that allowed her to pause with a slow breath afterwards.

It wasn’t that she was shy, certainly not.  She knew she was beautiful; even Jamison had told her as much.  It was simply that the fabric on her skin, the way his eyes remained closed made the world seem quieter, somehow.  Easier to manage and easier for her to watch his face without any interruptions, to puzzle over each little expression that moved over it and take her time in sorting it out.  It was control of a strange, simple sort, and it calmed her nerves to a surprising degree as she watched him, considering.

Possibly… the thought came to her that perhaps her haste in pushing him away wasn’t necessary.  And she remembered the way he looked on his bed, all addled and in disarray, and the way he had looked in the workshop, flustered and entirely out-of-sorts.  Both were appealing.  Both were things she wouldn’t mind revisiting.  And so, disregarding her better judgment she lifted her hand gingerly towards the curtain and pulled it back just far enough to look out into the room.

It was completely empty, no sign of Lena or any others, and she hesitated before her attention was brought back to Jamison by the way that his foot continued to tap on the floor, the sound getting louder as its cadence grew more rapid.  She pulled the curtain carefully shut once more and considered him, attempting to determine what ought to be done, and after a second longer she lowered a hand to press her fingers gingerly against his leg to stop its movement.  He froze, went stiff and still, but his hand took over instead, metal fingers tapping against the bench in a way that made her think he wasn’t aware of it and his features pinched as he closed his eyes more tightly.

She hesitated for only a moment longer before she moved, her arms reaching out in front of herself as she stepped forward to nestle her knee between his own, one on either side of his so that their legs were knitted together.  The touch was slow and cautious but her hands found his head, sliding into his hair just above his ears and she pulled him a bit closer to her body. She watched his face as she did it and it was clear that he had nearly opened his eyes more than once through the process.  More interesting, though, was the way his eyebrows raised slowly and the way his body went rigid as she pulled him to her belly.  She could feel the heat of him against her skin and a gentle, surprised breath over it before he leaned forward tentatively to press his lips against her stomach in a soft kiss, his hands raising from the bench to settle, tentative and careful on her hips as if he wasn’t certain he was allowed, and it recalled to her mind that first time she had kissed him when he had touched her like she might run away given the slightest provocation.

And she had, then.  But she wasn’t interested in repeating it.  He had begun a trail that travelled below her belly button and followed the curve of her stomach lower in a way that should have been alarming and she was distracted enough by it to miss the more confident touch of his hands, the prosthetic curling gently around the bone of her hip with the thumb solid on her abdomen, his left matching it, and she felt a long, warm breath of air ghosting over the thin fabric between her legs.

It had moved suddenly _far_ beyond dangerous territory, far beyond what she was ready for, and the sensation was enough to jar her back to reality.  She pulled him away abruptly by his hair, firmly but gently, and he let out a low groan with it that she couldn’t quite determine the cause of.  His eyes remained closed, his brow deeply furrowed, and she took a silent pause to calm breaths she hadn’t realized had deepened and tried to relax the toes that had begun to curl against the soles of her shower slippers.  It took her too long to recognize that he was still frozen in her touch, hands lifted and hovering inches away from her hips and head tipped back at the pull of his hair, his own breathing shallow as he sat there in absolute silence, waiting.  Her eyes flitted over him as she tried to regather her thoughts and she uncurled her fingers slowly and lifted them away.

Were it not for the faint rise of his chest and the way the lump at his throat bobbed when she released him she would have guessed he was a statue, the troubled look only deepening as he swallowed and mumbled, trailing off helplessly.  “Sorry.  I just thought…”  It wasn’t a look she had intended to draw out in him and she was surprised at how much she disliked its presence. 

She didn’t trust herself to find the words that might rid him of it so she settled for actions instead; she moved forward just as cautiously as before, pressing him back toward the wall with the tips of her fingers at his shoulders, shifting her body to place a knee on the bench and then the other so that one leg fell on either side of his own, her thighs brushing against his, straddling his lap as she came to rest on top of him and he went still beneath her, his spine straightening slowly the closer she moved. 

Once she was settled she waited, simply enjoying the curious look on his face, memorizing the lines for later, and then she finally lifted her hands and found his jaw again, pulling him closer to press a slow, unhurried kiss against his lips.  His eyebrows somehow arched higher with it as he pressed back carefully and she rewarded him with a flick of her tongue that he returned and after a moment it was heavy, like the way it had been when he had pressed her against the wall but this time she had him cornered against something solid and it felt safer somehow.  A quiet sound came from him, something low and muffled, and she smiled with it, a small thing meant for herself as she pulled away.  His eyes were still closed.  She supposed she could use it to her advantage.

A bit uncertainly at first, she coiled her fingers around his own and pulled them toward her body, settling the palm of his hand against her ribcage just below her breast and curled his fingers around her side, reveling in the warmth of it.  The meaning, she hoped, was clear, and it seemed as though he had received the message by the way his thumb ran hard against her skin just below the fabric and a metal hand found itself at her hip, the cool touch of it strange as he pulled her closer to himself, as he shifted his body ever-so-subtly, as the motion forced the both of them to roll their hips together.  He sucked in a breath of air through his teeth.  The pressure of something hard against the space between her legs pulled a quiet gasp from her as the both of them went perfectly still until he shuffled and tensed underneath her to do it again more slowly and she fought back the sound that nearly made it to her lips.  Something in it seemed to jog him into reality and she was surprised to hear the words from him, a somewhat breathy murmur with amusement in the tone however dulled by the other things that weighed down his voice.

“Thought you were s’posed to be gettin’ dressed.”

A quiet noise, a faux-thoughtful ‘hm’ escaped her, and she failed to notice the slight angling of her body closer to his as she responded.  “I am, somewhat.  I thought you were supposed to be showering.”

“Ain’t Lena—”

“She’s gone.”  There had been both a hesitance and a sort of fear in his voice, as though he hadn’t wanted to ask it in the first place, and she wondered over it until he went on with a quiet laugh and his voice a murmur, a strange thing that sounded a bit strained and oddly resigned.

“I dunno if I can take a repeat of the last round, love.”

It was a joke, she thought, although perhaps there was something genuine there as well and she wondered if there was perhaps more truth to it than his tone suggested. 

It wasn’t like her to be so incautious.  But it wasn’t as though it was the battlefield, and it wasn’t as though he was her typical adversary.  And while there was risk in indulging herself in a setting that was not exactly private it felt as though it were outweighed by the potential reward, the feel of him under her and the way his features looked, her view unobstructed and free to wander.  It felt safer than somewhere more private, somewhere like his room.  As though escape was only a thin curtain away.

Perhaps it was something of an apology, the way she guided his hand up along the curve of her still-covered breast, but the presence of the fabric didn’t seem to matter as he exhaled a somewhat shaky breath that made his chest drop and closed his eyes more tightly as though taxed with the effort.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell you know how to get a bloke goin’…”

It wasn’t intentional, not like at the workshop.  She hadn’t had a plan nor any idea that it might be enjoyable even with his eyes closed, but the words amused her and she allowed herself the crooked smile as she watched him with fascination.  His hand moved slowly as if still hesitant as it massaged her, the palm of it creating a friction that was more satisfying than it had the right to be, and after a second her gauntleted hand took hold of his prosthetic and guided it insistently to her backside where the metal fingers curled against her and pulled her closer against the bulge at the crotch of his sweatpants in a movement that made her breath hitch and if the faint smile on his features was any indication he felt it through his palm.

She wanted to see him, more of him at least, and her hands released his to find his shirt and tugged it insistently upward with a bit too much haste and he complied with the silent request, scrambling out of the fabric and letting it fall onto the bench beside them before lowering his hand and slipping it beneath is waistband to adjust the bulge there with a quiet, relieved sigh.  She nearly didn’t hear it over the faint sound that escaped her as his knuckles brushed against the crotch of her panties, unintentionally she was certain but the touch far too easy to feel through the thin silk, and he paused and pulled her toward him to do it once again, one light, gentle touch that made her shiver.  She had not been monitoring her own features—there was no need to—but the newfound sound she made caused his smile to widen and she noted it with dismay.  And something else entirely.

Competitiveness no doubt fueled it in part, the way she moved her hands to his sweatpants and attempted to tug them hurriedly downward without success.  It wasn’t only that, though.  The strange ache—something not entirely unfamiliar but still not something she was accustomed to—had returned more firmly at the faint touches and had lit something in her and she felt her teeth at her lip as she raised herself with her weight on her knees to pull more insistently at his waistband and he lifted his hips, his mechanical hand gripping the edge of the bench to aid the movement and his left hand tugging at the fabric in solidarity to pull them down just enough to expose himself before she settled back down on his lap and his body fell back against the bench with a quiet grunt.

She hadn’t seen him before, not really, the majority of the time in the workshop simply moving her hand on him underneath the fabric and the sight of him forced her eyes downwards in a stare she couldn’t have staved off if she tried.  The length of his cock was flushed with pink and already hard and a sigh was pulled from her at the sight of it pressed against the dark fabric of her panties.  She failed to notice that he had opened his eyes until she raised hers a second later and she knew that she did not look as surprised as she felt, the emotion overshadowed by other things.  It was startling, although not alarming, not like she might have thought, but she admonished him all the same with a soft curl of her lips over the words.  “You were supposed to keep your eyes closed.”

“Sorry, love.”  He was staring at her with his eyes half-lidded, the gaze flitting down her body in small doses before returning to her face each time—her collarbone, the curves of her chest, her navel—as if he were trying to keep his eyes up and was failing, and after a moment he gave in with the exhale of a breath she didn’t realize he’d been holding to look at her, the stare drifting downwards slowly and blatantly.  “… maybe not that sorry.”

It was the most he had ever seen of her by far, she realized suddenly, and she ignored the heat on her cheeks as best she could, a strange, exhilarating sensation that she felt in spite of herself.  “You’re staring.”  There was a smile in the words, a faint one, and he responded in a similar tone, his voice low.

“You’re makin’ it hard not to.”

It was thrilling, the way he was looking at her.  And the color on his cheeks and his slight shortness of breath and the way he gripped the bench again more tightly and she wanted his hands on her but she needed the weight of his eyes off of her first.  So she pressed forward against him, her body flush against his as she placed a kiss on his lips and her thumbs swept gently downwards, drifting over his eyelids as a physical reminder of the command as she pulled away.  “Keep them closed.”

He complied wordlessly but with a slow, shallow breath, and she adjusted her position so that the two of them met and thrust gently against him in a smooth, rolling motion that ran the silk of her panties along his skin.  The sharp inhale it drew from him overwhelmed her own and so she did it again with a bit more confidence, the smile returning as it had a similar effect but louder.  His hands found her unprompted, the prosthetic curling around her backside to pull her into him again and his left traversing the skin from her hip upwards, his thumb following the curve of her abdomen while his fingers traced her ribs, the digits sliding under the wire of her bra as he pulled her against himself again, pushing the garment up slightly with it in a way that threatened to expose her and she found she didn’t mind.  It wasn’t long before his posture slumped a bit so that his hips were nearly directly under her own and he pushed them upward as well as he could from the position with a ragged breath.  She wasn’t immune; the hard length of him pressed against the space between her legs drew a shiver from her that she tried to suppress but failed, a harsh breath escaping her as it touched sensitive places, the sensation only slightly muted by the silk between them.

She was grinding against him slowly but in earnest by the time his hand had moved fully under her bra and was kneading at her breast, his fingers splayed around the hardened nub of her nipple and brushing gently over it in a way that made her breath catch but he moved it away to the crotch of her panties instead and brushed the pad of his thumb across the thin fabric.  The way her quiet moan affected him was delightful—the way his jaw went slack, his mouth briefly parted before his teeth found his lower lip.  It still felt something like a game to be won and she held onto the fact determinedly to clear her mind as she pulled his hand away and raised it toward his own mouth, palm-up.  He didn’t grasp the meaning, that much was clear, and as the moment went on the both of them went still and worked to calm their breathing before he opened his eyes hesitantly, looking for an answer.  She pressed his open palm closer to his lips and then suddenly, with understanding, he raised his eyes from his hand to settle them directly on her own expectant gaze in a look that was unmistakably heated as he spat in his palm in a practiced, deliberate way that felt remarkably obscene and seemed as though it should have been far more unappealing than it was. 

She knew her expression was unkempt as she watched him but was finding it difficult to care and the ragged breath that escaped her nearly forced her eyes closed.  But she pulled herself together enough, at least, towing his wrist and guiding his hand back to his groin and she held his eyes as she wrapped his fingers around his cock for him and it made him shudder.  Her hand stayed, gripping his own more tightly and moving it upwards in a slow stroke and he made a sound that nearly made her shiver and demanded she do it again.

He leaned forward with a hard breath that found her skin as his prosthetic hand moved to the fabric of her bra and tugged it upwards clumsily, the garment becoming immediately useless as it slipped off of her breasts, and her hand left his own to unhook the thing with a brief twinge of irritation at it before pulling it off of her shoulders and tossing it onto the bench beside him.  She hadn’t been certain of the merits of allowing him to keep his eyes open but she changed her mind when he mumbled the words distractedly, seemingly unaware he was saying them at all.  “ _Christ_ , you’re beautiful…”

The muscles of his abdomen tensed and twitched with the effort of reaching her but her view was obstructed by the top of his head as he leaned forward, pressing kisses against her skin until they found the hard bud of her nipple and latched to it gently.  She was quickly becoming breathless and fought to regain herself but the effort of holding the position forced him away from her after a moment or two and he slumped back against the wall, giving her the opportunity to wrap her hand around his own once again, closing her fingers tightly over his in a movement that elicited a low groan from him, his eyes briefly slipping closed before he opened them, pointed them down to where her hand was wrapped around his, their fingers overlapping over the length of his cock, his mouth parted and his expression dazed.

“Is that good?”  She leaned forward slightly to murmur the words into his ear to keep her volume low and his breath hitched and a deeper color began to develop on his cheeks.  He only nodded before he found his tongue and it was mostly whisper and mostly something that she read from his lips rather than heard.

“Yeah.”

His eyes were locked downward, mesmerized, and she felt as though she could tell when he was close by the look on his face alone and the heat in her suggested something that she trembled at, uncertain if she liked the idea but still willing to try it.  Her hand hastily pulled his own away from him and it drew a disappointed groan from him until she pulled it to her breast again.  His fingers brushed her nipple once more as her hand found him and began to work him quickly, the length of him still slick between her fingers and his voice came out as a shuddering breath with a tone of grim resignation, spat out between clenched teeth.

“ _Fuck_.  Satya—”

He failed to finish the thought as his head tipped back until it thudded gently against the wall and it drew something from deep inside him, a low and guttural sound, something between a groan and a growl and animalistic in nature and his chest heaved with it as his body shuddered under her touch.  She watched him carefully with an inquisitive gaze, her own breath shallow but somehow maintaining her composure as he began to lose all of his.  He unravelled quickly, evident first in the way a tremble began in his thighs and then in the low moan that was pulled from him and finally in the deep shudder that shot through him, forcing his body into one rigid line as he thrust into her palm as best he could.  The prosthetic arm at her hip pulled her hard against him, gripping tightly, just enough to be slightly uncomfortable, the rubber pads against her skin and he pressed his head into the wall behind himself with strangled, wordless sounds he had clearly intended to keep quiet, a strained ‘ngh’ as he came, his seed spilling across his belly. 

It was absolutely fascinating and she watched it all with an interest that wasn’t merely academic.

He was breathless for a long moment afterwards and she waited patiently for him to come back, although she was briefly distracted by the substance on her hand—the stickiness of it causing her nose to wrinkle in distaste—and the dampness of his palm against her side where it had retreated but she supposed she would have to take another shower anyway.  Her hand, though, needed to be taken care of immediately.  The towel wouldn’t do.  It would be needed after the shower, and so she leaned carefully away from him to find his shirt and began to clean her hand gingerly, her eyes trailing to the still-heaving muscles of his stomach before she gently cleaned it as well, not bothering to mourn the shirt.  He had others.  He twitched under the touch and raised his head slowly as if he were still recovering, his eyes open, swimming for a second before they found their focus on her and his lips curled in a slowly-widening, crooked little smile.

She returned the look, although more subdued and the slightest bit cunning even with the way her heart still beat a bit too hard in her chest and the ache had failed to retreat.  “Was that round three?”

A breathy laugh pitched out of him and it was sudden enough to surprise her, loud and uncontrolled enough to remind her of where they were and she placed her fingers against his mouth to quiet it without complete success, the sound muffled as he tried to keep his lips pressed tight together but it seemed as though he couldn’t stop it and it continued, punctuated by stops and starts until he finally ran out of breath, sounding exhausted behind the grin as he slowly pulled her hand away from his mouth with a look of obvious fondness and a carefully-lowered voice, matter-of-fact.  “Best four out of seven.”

She kept her own voice low but couldn’t keep the smile from it, the effort of containing it likely obvious.  “You are _very_ bad at this.”

“Listen.  A’right.  Unfair."

“How so?

He was slow in responding, still gathering himself and he did so with a light shake of his head that seemed to help him begin to regain his focus.  His eyes moved over her slowly and lingered, and although he was clearly exhausted the hungry look was not quite gone.  The words, however, sounded oddly pleased, as if he were impressed as he offered her another crooked, tired-looking grin.  “You play dirty.”

“How, precisely, have I ‘played dirty’?”

“You really gotta ask?  Comin’ after me like that?  Havin’ your hands all over me.  I didn’t stand a chance.”

It was satisfying to hear him admit it and a strange source of pride even if he believed it to be underhanded.  She couldn’t help the smirk.  “I simply found the most effective way to win.”

“Careful or I’ll start playin’ by your rules.”

It seemed to be a lighthearted comment but there was something exhilarating in the way he was looking at her and a threat in the words and she froze under the weight of it, suddenly unable to find her voice.  His eyes shifted between her own in the silence and stayed there, the gaze steady and inquisitive, an eye narrowing gently as he considered her.  Trying to read something, perhaps.  It was a long moment before he leaned forward slowly, pulling her closer at the hip with the prosthetic, his hand snaking up along her back before withdrawing just long enough to move around her body, to return to her, to curl behind her neck, his fingers mingling with her hair as he pressed his lips against hers for a slow kiss that grew in intensity, his breath punctuating each pause and ringing in her ears as it grew in volume. 

She returned it earnestly, carefully at first but slowly becoming more indulgent than intended.  _Needier_ , a quiet sound escaping her into his mouth.  It spurred his tongue to action of a more vocal sort, his lips still brushing against hers as he spoke in a quiet voice that began as something measured and slow but began to develop an undercurrent of haste and something like desperation, as if the words had been waiting to come out and he’d only needed an excuse to release them and once he started he couldn’t stop.

“I been thinkin’ about you since then every night.  Couldn’t stop.  ‘Course I may have been thinkin’ about you before that, too.  Since you kissed me in the kitchen.”

He began to move his hand tentatively with the confessional, as if he thought that by releasing her she might break away, but soon his palm was at her breast once again, pausing to caress the skin there before his fingers traced down her ribs, the curve of her belly, and lower to the hem of her panties where he turned his palm outwards, pressed it against her skin, and slipped his fingers below the fabric, his tongue still moving and the breathlessness of it having the strange effect on her of taking her own breath away as well.

“If I’m bein’ honest even after that yoga lesson.  Couldn’t help meself.  I don’t think you know what ya been doin’ to me.”

It was too distracting and they were pressed too close together for it to be comfortable, the reach of his fingers made somewhat awkward until he shifted his weight, shuffled back so that she wasn’t quite straddling him anymore and a space opened up between them, her hips lifting of their own volition as she remained lost in the combination of his touch and his words and quickly losing track of the world around her.  It was made no easier by the brush of his fingertips against sensitive places where they hesitated, moved in a slow circle in a way that drew a sudden hard tremor from her, unexpected and unprepared for.  She withdrew from him out of need for a breath of air, gasping it, her hands pressed palms-flat against his chest and her eyes remaining tightly closed as she bit the sound of his name into her lips to keep it from escaping, the hard beat of her heart left to do as it pleased, unmonitored.

His hand moved farther, curling under her until she could feel his fingers brushing against a slick wetness and her breath left her as a tremble worked its way up her thighs and he was close to her cheek, his voice in her ear, quiet under the sound of the water.

“Can I?”

She didn’t have it in her to speak.  Instead her hands moved upwards to curl around his jaw and pull him close, her forehead pressed against his as she nodded carefully, hesitantly, eyes still tightly closed, her heart beating too fast and she attempted to focus on the cool feel of his metal palm against her skin just in time for her to brace herself for the fingers that found the source of the heat and pressed into her slowly.

“ _Ah…_ ”  Her hips shifted forward traitorously, her body moving over his fingers as he pressed them farther into her with a deep, almost relieved-sounding sigh.  There was no fabric of his shirt to hold to and so her fingers curled against his skin instead, abandoning his jaw in favor of his shoulders, pressing closer against his own and she felt his breathing quicken in her palms, his shoulders rising with each breath.

“Christ, Satya…”  He sounded stricken and it seemed so strange that she came to herself enough to focus, cracking her eyelids open carefully, her eyes locking immediately onto his.  His own were  dazed, his cheeks a vibrant pink again, and her gaze on him seemed to draw him out of a stupor as he blinked, swallowed, lips parted as his tongue darted over them before he found his voice, breathless.  “Lemme do somethin’, yeah?  Please?”

She was falling under it all, rather fast.  Her mouth was parted to accommodate shallow breaths and she couldn’t seem to close them, couldn’t change her expression no matter how hard she tried.  She knew it was something hazy and fogged over with a thick layer of desire and she closed her eyes against it, her brow furrowing as she tried to shake it off but he was silent and still, a solid pressure holding her to him, and although she did her utmost to find them the words for a response still weren’t in her.  She opened her eyes and he was still staring up at her, earnest and anxious.

When she didn’t answer his sharp teeth appeared on his lower lip, his brow knitted, and then he lowered his eyes away from her own to trail down her body before his hands shifted and found her hips, pressing her away gently.  It was a wordless prompt for her to stand and it was easier to pull away from him than she had expected, his guiding hands only encouraging a change in position that she was already grateful to take; the placement of her knees on the bench had begun to become uncomfortable and so she moved carefully to her feet and removed her hands from his hair, his own still on her hips as he inched her away a bit farther.  She stood with her legs on either side of his, their thighs interwoven and the warmth of him still mingling with her own.  He followed after her, still seated, his hands grasping the outside of her thighs gently—light, ghosting touches that made her shiver.

He scooted forward on the bench so that she was within easy reach before pausing with a realization and releasing her to tug his sweatpants up over himself, his hands returning to her a moment afterward and curling around the back of her legs to keep her from moving away, a gentle touch, nothing she could see any reason to be concerned about.  She watched in silence as he pulled her more closely toward himself in a slow, cautious motion, but she followed his pull along, giving him another inch or two of access.  It was strange, the almost compulsive desire to do so, but her hand began a path carefully through the empty space between them before her fingers brushed against the strands of his hair, tentative at first and then slowly burying themselves amongst the threads of it in a movement that drew a quiet sound from him.  His eyelids fluttered and closed only for a brief pause before snapping open again and his eyes did their best to focus on her in a look that left her momentarily breathless, half-lidded and dark with an intensity that had rebuilt more quickly than she would have expected.

The perspective was interesting, standing above him.  As she ran both of her hands through his hair experimentally she watched his head dip to better accommodate her reach, his sharp nose inches away from her belly button and she paused, breath held as his left hand lifted to her thigh, his fingers curling against her skin as he leaned forward.  She felt his breath before she felt his mouth against her bare stomach and her heart jumped as he pulled her closer, his hand dragging back across her body until it found the curves of her rear and the prosthetic did the same, more slowly and more gingerly, the light touch strange until it came to a stop and settled against her skin more firmly.  The kiss became an odd pressure as his lips pulled against the skin of her belly, a not unpleasant sensation that she realized only a second after would likely leave a mark like the others and was surprised to find she didn’t mind.  The hands in his hair pulled him closer and her head swam as he let out a low, appreciative groan and dropped his head lower, a heated breath striking the skin of her inner thigh and followed quickly after by the wet warmth of his tongue.

It seemed sudden, enough to make her breath hitch in a gasp that was nearly silent, her fingers curling into the fine strands more tightly of their own volition before she could bring them back under her control.  Her eyelids had fluttered shut but she opened them stubbornly, fixing her eyes downward at the top of his head as his tongue dragged across her inner thigh, snaking from her skin upward across the silk, a warm, soft sensation that she could feel through the thin fabric in a way that drew a faint shudder from her that she attempted to stop and failed.  He noticed, he couldn’t possibly have missed it.  A hard twitch ran along the curve of his back, a small thing that seemed to prompt him to stop as he pulled his tongue away.  She could see the rise and fall of his shoulders with each quickened breath and he lifted his head to press it into her hands before he raised his eyes to her.  The look was hesitant, disoriented but wincing all the same and he bared his teeth in an expression that she supposed was meant to be an apologetic smile.

“That a’right?”

She didn’t answer right away, or rather couldn’t, and as the pause went on his sharp teeth began to press harder against one-another with the tension in his jaw.  She’d been holding her breath, she realized, and she released it in a sudden stunned exhale, closing her eyes and giving her head a gentle shake to clear it.  He was still there when she opened them, still sincere and it was better suddenly, the feeling that the situation was under her control that lit in her chest.  It was grounding.  It gave her voice a resolve she appreciated. 

“Yes.”

She could see the relief mingled with the color on his cheeks as he turned the smile into something real and laughed, a quiet, airy giggle that ended with a heavy, stuttering and disbelieving little breath that was already closer to her skin again as his chin dropped and his eyes moved back to her stomach, sinking lower even as he spoke in a low murmur that was barely audible. 

“Was hopin’ you’d say that.”

It was still mildly frightening and her heart was still beating hard and only quickening but her lips parted for a heavy breath as she stared at him, certain that her own eyes were dark as well.  She pulled her hands away from his hair and moved them instead to his ears, her thumbs and forefingers gently rubbing the tips of them as she pulled him gingerly back to her and the second she placed that pressure on him he offered her a devious little smile and he lowered himself back to her stomach where he nipped at her skin gently.  His prosthetic hand shifted in a way that made her heart jump, uncertain both of what it was doing and what it was capable of, but the cool metal only pressed against her abdomen before moving a bit lower, looping the thumb under the silk and pulling it to the side and she didn’t have the time to feel exposed before his head dipped down and his tongue found her again, this time without the fabric as a barrier.  There was no room for any particular thought when it slicked over the sensitive nub between her legs and moved, too fast, and she pulled him away by his ears with a gasping breath.  He made a strange, strangled sound as he looked up at her and she worked to calm her breath as she took in his confused look, attempting to make the words softer. 

“Slow down, Jamie.”

His brow furrowed as he watched her face carefully but in lieu of an apology he shifted his left hand and pulled her abruptly closer in a motion that seemed almost aggressive, a thing that softened the second his face nuzzled against her and tried again and her grip on him tightened slightly as his tongue continued its work in long, slow strokes, unhurried after her request. 

“ _Oh_.”  The sound was a whisper but it rang in her ears and his laugh vibrated through her—a low thing, quiet and pleased, pitching upwards as it went before calming.  His body had dipped lower to allow his tongue better access between her legs and his prosthetic hand was looping under the inside of her thigh to draw her leg upward and her hands weren’t in his hair for the texture anymore but to keep her balance and as he shuffled forward on the bench her back was suddenly against the wall just in time for her to feel the tug of the silk being pulled farther aside and the brush of his fingers across slick skin before they pressed into her slowly once again.

Her breath left her and her eyes snapped shut as a tremble worked its way up her thighs and it was good, more than.  She didn’t have the composure to squelch the sound it pulled from her but she muffled it on her lips, trapped it between her teeth, and her grip tightened in his hair in what she told herself was some meager punishment for it that he didn’t at all seem to mind if the hot breath he released between her legs was any indication, the sensation requiring her to bite her lip more tightly to keep herself quiet.  The way he moved was slow but persistent and the alternating assault of his tongue and his fingers forced her breath out in a shivering gasp as his reach rubbed against places that pulled a quiet moan from her anyway and her teeth released her lip to leave them parted to accommodate faster, shallowed breaths.

She could justify it.  It had been some time since she had been with anyone, that much was true, and she was tired from the previous night and couldn’t be blamed for being oversensitive and there was no shame in unravelling so easily under the touch of a man who had a tendency to set himself on fire and couldn’t properly use a belt if his life depended on it.  One who had kissed her with so much care and who had proven to be thoughtful and intelligent and who said he was crazy about her with such absolute sincerity.  But her leg was looped over his shoulder, his back warm against her calf, and although she could have pushed him away her fingers had stopped cooperating long ago, the nerves short-circuiting as if all they knew how to do was pull him closer and his fingers curled inside of her and she fell apart with nothing more than a hard tremor and a quiet, shuddering ‘ _ah_ ’.

They were both left panting for breath as the world slowly stilled, her weight on the wall and his shoulders, her toes still curled against the soles of her shower slippers and her head tipped back, a position she allowed herself as she worked to calm the beating of her heart.  She neglected to realize that her hands were still in his hair until he pulled back and her fingers slipped away from him, her eyes opening to focus on him as he shrugged her leg off of his shoulder in one slow, careful, motion, the metal fingers following the line of her calf as he dropped it attentively to the floor.  Having her feet under her went a long way toward bringing reality back and she wished she had something to hold onto once again, something to do with her hands.  A part of her wondered if he knew as he curled his hand around her and pulled her towards himself on the bench again and she had the feeling he intended to pull her to his lap but the thought made her uncomfortable.  It all felt awkward and strange and still-uncertain despite the reality of what had just happened or perhaps because of it and he could tell, she knew, from the way he looked up at her.

“You okay?”  The words came with a grin, a faint and lopsided one that looked unconfident because of it, and she considered it in silence, her lips still parted as her breaths finally began to return to their typical meter.  She was working through a haze and it felt difficult to stand, unsteady on her feet, unused to it.  It was the vulnerable feeling again, a pang of something not terrible but vaguely uncomfortable.  It took her longer to answer than she would have liked, some steadying breaths and a brief closing of her eyes required before she nodded carefully and opened them to look at him, rapidly beginning to feel more calm.  “Yes.”  The word felt lonely and incomplete and she took a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh meant to clear her head.  “I’m fine.” 

She had intended to smile and had every suspicion that she hadn’t managed it but he laughed all the same, uneasily, a quiet giggle that pitched upwards a bit higher than it typically did.  It was nervous, she recognized.  Anxious.  And it painted the tone of his voice as well even with the humor he attempted.  “Fine ain’t exactly what I was goin’ for.”

She could see the discomfort but wasn’t entirely certain why it was there and so she slipped onto his lap abruptly despite her reservations, finding his warmth surprisingly comfortable, and as he curled his arms loosely around her it largely dispelled the anxiety on his features and was replaced by a faint grin, growing in width and crookedness, the edges of it still soft and fond.  A wordless stare overtook her as she considered him, looking him over, and as she was trying to find something to say his chin tipped to the side and he leaned forward slowly with the clear intent to kiss her and she raised her gauntlet, the motion too similar to the last time and it seemed almost like he had been waiting for it; a frustrated sound came from between his pursed lips as he shoved them and the rest of his face against her prosthetic palm anyway with a comical slump of his shoulders, a strong note of disappointment in it.  She did smile then and failed at subduing the good-natured chuckle that came with it, a rich, deep sound from somewhere within her.  He deserved an explanation, she supposed. 

“Not until you wash.”  Even though his face was out of sight she could feel the relief in his tone, in the way his grip on her tightened again when she had failed to even notice it going slack, the grin in the muffled words and the gentle taunt making his voice lilt with it, nearly sing-song.

“The thanks I get for all me hard work...”

The laugh that came from her was sudden and stronger than she felt and it was bracing, regaining a bit of her composure with it.  It felt better.  And it seemed to break whatever spell it was that had come over her, whatever it was that had made her so uncomfortable.  She pulled her hand gently away to reveal his face and was surprised to find his eyes immediately on hers, his expression genuine in a way that she hadn’t expected, the humor of it utterly gone in favor of preoccupation.  It subdued his voice as he spoke, or perhaps he was still attempting, at least, to constrain himself below the volume of the shower. 

“… did I do alright?”

The words took her aback just as much as the look on his face and something must have shown on her features; he winced, lightly, eyes narrowing in one quick motion and his lips pulled back in something like a grimace.  It was puzzling and she wasn’t certain what had triggered it, so she moved closer to him instead, shifting her body on his lap so that it nestled more tightly against his and her hands found the curves of his jaw.  She wanted to kiss him, badly, but she settled for her eyes roving over him before they returned to his own, her brow furrowed at her lack of understanding.  It felt difficult to say for whatever reason, as though acknowledging it meant something more than it happening in the first place, but she released her breath in a gentle sigh of irritation with herself and pressed against him in hopes that it in combination with the single word might be an acceptable answer.

“Yes.”

He seemed to believe her albeit only after a moment of watching her closely and it brought out a breath of relief, a genuine smile back on his features, his eyebrows raised with the explanation.  “You were awful quiet, is all.”

“Talking seemed unwise.”

He chuckled, lowered his head in a look that was amusingly sheepish, a ridiculous expression all things considered.  “Didn’t mean just talkin’.”

“Ah.”  The sound was soft and while some of it was from a strange sort of embarrassment that set her cheeks on fire there was also fondness there, a surprising depth of it as she lowered her voice to a barely-audible murmur as a reminder.  “We are not exactly in private.”

“Can we do it again sometime?  Somewhere more private.”

It took her by surprise for whatever reason, perhaps the blatant nature of the question.  It wasn’t as though she had made plans not to, but the explicit invitation drew a small breath from her, a heated thing that lowered her eyelids as she looked over his features, his body, and the desire to kiss him welled up again.  She blinked it away with a hint of frustration but much more of something else as she tried to pause the jump of her heart and bring it back to a normal pace.

“… is that another invitation to _Chateau d’Fawkes_?”

His hands were around her as he answered, pulling her closer by the hips as he smiled a lopsided thing, a gold tooth glinting in the light.  “You got a permanent reservation so far as I’m concerned.” 

The words were lighthearted and untroubled and it seemed as though he had barely had to think about them at all.  Her mind snagged on it and stalled and she began to wonder if he realized what he had said—the potential implications of it—before she dragged her thoughts forcibly away, not willing to allow herself to think on it, not there and not then at the very least. 

Her voice was gently admonishing as she replied, sidestepping the previous topic carefully.  “You’ve ruined my shower.”

“… do ya wanna take one with me?”  He either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to mind her evasion and the smile remained, casual and carefree as he looked at her with bright eyes.  It was enough to lighten her own mood as she got caught up in it and returned the smile, her own a bit sardonic with the reply.

“Will it be as productive as allowing me to put on my clothes?”

“I can try to behave meself.”  His eyes were roving over her again in a way that made her doubt the truth of them but he leaned in to lower his voice, his lips curling into a look that was more crooked and sly and the faintest bit self-satisfied.  “… I didn’t start it, anyway.”

The smile came to her slowly but grew in strength as she considered him.  “I suppose that’s fair.”

It was regretful to leave his lap, more than she would have imagined, but she slipped away from him with a careful sweep of her hair over her shoulder and he stared at her for a second after she moved away from him and she thought it was something like disbelief in his unwillingness to look away, something he only did after a hard blink.  His jaw was still slack as he went about the task of peeling the sweatpants off  and it occurred to her that it was the first time she had seen him fully naked so she let her eyes roam over his skin slowly, taking in the details.  It was only after a moment that she realized he had stopped moving and when she lifted her eyes she found him staring back at her with a small, lopsided smile on his face.  It wasn’t a teasing sort but something like pleasant surprise.  Somehow it still felt embarrassing to have been caught staring, despite the fact that he had done the same to her.  And despite the fact of what had just happened.  She tried to ignore the heat on her cheeks as she glanced back to him and made her way into the shower, stepping under the already-running water carefully with the curtain slightly parted.  By the time she looked back he had busied himself with removing the arm and she allowed herself the opportunity to stare again, safe in the belief she wouldn’t be caught.

It was curious.  She wondered how he’d lost it, but she supposed explosives wouldn’t be a terrible guess.  By the time he was done she had settled into a steady gaze, one that didn’t falter when he finally looked back to her, and upon finding her looking his lips curled upwards in a broad, mystified little grin, as though he hadn’t gotten used to the idea of her staring at him.  The leg was less of a concern and he was on his feet, slipping behind the curtain with her, staying close as the water matted his hair on the top of his head and pushed it down over his eyes.  It didn’t disturb the wide grin on his features, however, and his gold teeth shone neatly in the light as he pressed against her lightly, his hand finding the curve of her side as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Y’know, I—”  She pressed a prosthetic finger to his lips to quiet him.  It was too hard to hear over the sound of the water if anyone entered, and while the thought hadn’t occurred to her at the time they had already risked far too much.  He followed along obediently, snapping his teeth shut in an exaggerated way to indicate that he understood and it drew a quiet chuckle from her, one she couldn’t quite contain.

It was pleasant enough, if awkward and entirely counter-productive and strangely intimate in a way that gave her the mildest sense of discomfort.  He seemed to have difficulty keeping his hand to himself, and while she may not have minded under other circumstances it was difficult to enjoy; she wanted to be out as quickly as possible lest someone else come in, and with each minute the hour was getting late enough that others would surely be beginning their morning routines.  So she rushed, pushing him along until she was clean and stepping abruptly out of the shower, leaving him behind under the water as she moved back to her towel, wrinkling her nose gently at the dampness of it but going about the task of drying herself all the same.

He had followed to the edge of the shower, peering out at her from behind the curtain with a faint frown that she noticed as she finished pulling on her clean uniform and turned to look at him.  It was puzzling.  She didn’t understand the meaning of it but she wanted it to be gone, so she stepped carefully back across a puddle of water and gestured to him with one finger, hoping to draw him out just enough.  He complied with widened eyes and a look of confused anticipation that was at least better than the frown and she leaned up to place a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips that made his eyelids flutter closed for the duration of it, only cracking once she withdrew.  The frown was gone and in its place was something satisfied and dreamlike and she allowed herself a faint smile at it.  She stayed close to murmur her goodbye quietly into his ear.

“I will see you at the briefing.”  She was too distracted to fully appreciate the look that came over him, a narrowed eye and a faint twitch, his lips curled upward in what she believed was meant to be a grin. 

“Yeah.”  Something strange flitted across his features.  Something she had no hope of identifying.  “For deffo.”

It seemed strained somehow but she had little time to concern herself with it, so she withdrew, pulling the shower curtain shut as he ducked back inside and opening the curtain of the changing room carefully to peer outside.

The room was still empty.  Jamison’s shaving supplies sat on the counter near the sink.  Her comb sat beside them.  She cursed gently to herself.  It was careless, but it seemed as though no one had come in and no one had seen them so she supposed it wasn’t too terrible.  She took a deep breath and made her way toward the door.  But she paused to glance at herself in the mirror, carefully taking her hair and pulling it over one shoulder as the sound of the water echoed in the background, and she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

 

* * *

 

 

It took the entire time from her leaving the shower to the briefing itself for her to feel as if she had recovered and even then she wasn’t certain how well she was managing her normal behavior.  Being late wasn’t a particularly good start—perhaps not late, but not early, which for her might as well have been the same thing.  It was made no easier by the fact that the Junkers were oddly already there, far from typical for them, but she supposed Jamison had been up early so there was no reason he would walk in at his usual five-minutes-past-meeting-time.

They were seated in the back as was typical, Roadhog’s burly arms crossed over his chest as he sat back in his chair and Jamison slumped back against his own, his hair slicked back and his features smoothed.  She tried her best to only glance at him as she moved to her seat.  It lingered too long and their eyes met, his teeth on his lower lip as if to try to keep them from the faint smile that overtook them anyway, and she willed herself not to smile in return and instead tore her eyes away until she found her seat.  No one seemed to notice aside, perhaps, for Roadhog, who was the only one in any position to do so.  It was a relief sometimes to know that he already knew.

Winston plunged in as soon as she was in a chair.

“Thank you all for coming.  I know it was a late night.”  His voice was its usual, deep and somehow kind, and it seemed unhurried as he went on, his hands not curled around papers or a tablet: a rarity.

“Thanks to all of your hard work we’re moving forward with our investigation into the attacks on Overwatch.  I’m… not at liberty to say much aside from the fact that our results so far are… concerning.”  He cleared his throat, a sound that seemed both troubled and resigned before he went on.  “But that’s not really what we’re here to discuss.  Or it is, kind of.  Tangentially.”  He paused, his nostrils flaring as he took in a breath before going on.

“The point is we’re going to be going to Australia.  To Junkertown, specifically.  We have some information we need to follow up on from that bounty hunter that Satya caught, so we’ll be visiting where he came from and he’s agreed to arrange a meeting on condition of his release with a couple of the locals he has connections with—”

“ _Release_?”  Torbjörn’s voice ground the gorilla’s to a halt as he leaned forward in his chair, the arm he’d placed on the armrest slipping off as he shed his relaxed posture. 

“Yes.”  Winston’s response was slow but patient.  Careful.  It still didn’t have the desired effect and Torbjörn seemed far from sated by it.

“He tried to _kill_ Jamison.”

The gorilla took another breath and released it as a sigh as he gripped the podium in front of himself loosely, looking directly at Torbjörn as he replied.  “We’re meeting with the people who hired him.  We’re following the money, and this is a huge step.  This is big, and Jamison and Mako have agreed to go.  We’ll need what they know about the place on this one.”

Jamison shifted in his chair at the sound of his name but sat up a bit straighter as some of the others glanced toward him with a faint grin that seemed unconcerned.  He didn’t look at her and something about it seemed pointed, an avoidance that she recognized and one that immediately snagged and drew out an emotion that she couldn’t quite define, not yet.  It didn’t feel as if it were out of attempts at being subtle, as if it had anything to do with what had happened earlier.  Because of the shower, or because of any of their clandestine activities.  It felt like that cagey, twitchy thing he’d been when she had first seen him that morning, when he was at the sink shaving, something that had faded away only they’d begun talking.  Something that had come back when she had mentioned the briefing.  He spoke as if trying to head off any further objections, his voice in a low, defensive mumble.

“… only broke me arm, anyway.”

She stared at him openly as she tried to puzzle through her thoughts, a light crease finding a home on her brow and she spoke before she had a chance to mentally review the words that escaped her.

“This seems unwise."

Torbjörn offered an addition.  “I don’t like it.”

Winston’s voice cut through the dissent quietly as he went on, raising a large hand defensively.  “You know I don’t like putting anyone in danger.  But it’s a good opportunity for us to make headway and Jamison will be safe with us.  Anyone who doesn’t want to come doesn’t have to.  This is a completely voluntary mission on all fronts.  But this is top priority for us, so I’d appreciate all the help we can get.”

It wasn’t something she had really considered, Junkertown.  And she had certainly never considered _going_ there.  From what she had read—and seen, in photographs from Jamison and Mako’s files—it was an irradiated wasteland, a scrap heap filled with vagabonds and criminals, and not somewhere they should want—or have any reason—to go.  She might trust Winston’s judgment but that only went so far, and the phrase ‘irradiated wasteland’ felt like about as far as that trust went. 

“I’m sure you all have plenty of questions so that’s what we’re here for now.  I’m hoping we can head most of them off.  For one, the radiation.”  The gorilla turned his attention to the tablet at the podium and picked it up, his eyes loosely focused on it as he continued in a way that suggested it was mostly just something to keep his eyes occupied.  “It’s… not insignificant, but nothing we can’t properly prepare for.  Dr. Zeigler?”  He lifted his eyes with the name and directed them pointedly towards Angela who stood up, her hands folded in front of herself and a gracious, unflappable smile on her face.

Satya wondered suddenly how many of them had already known.  Winston and Angela.  Both of the Junkers, obviously.  And Lena, if the discussion in the shower room had been any indication.  Everyone except herself and Reinhardt and Torbjörn.  It stung a part of her although she wasn’t entirely sure why and a flash of irritation moved through her.  And while she was uncertain where it was directed at she found herself wishing she had had more time to prepare.  Any time, actually.  She tried to focus on Angela’s words rather than the emotion and breathed carefully to keep herself in check.

“Although the radioactivity of the landscape _is_ significant the closer one gets to the omnium, with the help of modern medicine we can minimize or eliminate all effects or buildup of radiation in one’s body.  We have medication available that is both preventative and combative of radiation and its effects.”  There was a certain pride in the woman’s voice that lent it authority and despite her reservations Satya felt herself being soothed by it all the same as she went on.  “It is the same medicine Jamison takes to remove the radiation from his system.”  Angela paused, glancing at him meaningfully.  “When he remembers to take it.”

Satya chanced a look to him and Jamison looked both sullen and irritated but said nothing to defend himself, only crossing his arms tightly across his chest and shifting his eyes off to the side, evasive.  A mumble escaped him, completely inaudible, and she felt her brow furrow gently at the reaction.  Winston’s voice drew her back to the briefing but she remained distracted as she turned her eyes to him, her thoughts partially elsewhere.

“No one has to decide now.  You have two days to think it over and make a decision.  And if you have any other concerns in the meantime bring them to me, Lena, or Angela.  We should be able to answer any questions you might have.”

He had barely finished before Torbjörn pitched in, unasked.  “I’ll be going.  Wouldn’t feel right letting the boy go alone.  Or without a full escort.”

“And me as well!”  Reinhardt’s voice boomed into the room suddenly enough that she winced at the volume.

“There’s—”  Winston raised his hands in an appeasing gesture, tripping over his own voice as he looked between Reinhardt and Torbjörn.  “—no need to answer, not yet.  In fact I would prefer it if you took the time to think it over.” 

Somehow, although she couldn’t possibly identify how, she suddenly knew that everyone else had already agreed to go.  Maybe it was something in the hasty way Winston tried to stop the conversation, or in the way no one was looking at her, something that seemed as though it were a conscious effort.  Maybe it was in the quiet of the room.  But she knew and she was forced to lower her eyes to the ground with a deep, slow breath, trying to ignore the buzzing in her ears.  It was polite for not all of them to say it, so as not to single her out, but the words came out of her anyway as she lifted her eyes to look at Winston firmly.

“I’ll go, as well.”

She could see the gorilla’s sigh more than she could hear it; it lifted furry shoulders and released them in one quick, tired drop, and he finally looked down to his tablet, picking it up in one hand and lifting the other to adjust his glasses, seemingly simply to have something to do as he reiterated himself, more softly but punctuating each word with a pause for emphasis.  “You have two.  Days.  To decide.  And I’ll remind you all one more time that this is voluntary.”

Whatever ease she may have detected in Jamison as she entered the room was decidedly gone and she noted the terse curve of his shoulders and the quiet tap of his heel against the ground.  The grin was incongruous, the kind that looked a bit strained around the edges, and she watched him without caring if she was noticed.  She had the suspicion that others were stealing glances at him as well anyway.  But he uncurled his arms as the pause in the conversation lingered and raised them to either side of himself, sitting up a bit with the open gesture, paired with the widening grin, broad enough to show off both gold teeth.

“Me old stompin’ grounds.”  There was a intonation to his voice that made it sound a bit too pleased, a bit manic.  “And it sounds like I’m gonna have company.”  He giggled, the sound lilting upwards in something she recognized but felt as though it was from some time ago from far away, and she watched him carefully as he went on.   “Just wait ‘til they see me with a whole ship full ‘a bodyguards!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Winston about your water bill.
> 
> This one’s probably a little slow and way too long but I dunno. I wanted to include little character things and not just the smut so that ended up making things pretty long. I know there’s a lot wrong with it but I basically needed it to be done at this point so that I’m not staring at it anymore and can move on to other things because this was legit draft like 16 or something and this one gave me a lot of trouble so I hope it was at least okay.
> 
> I hope you guys are ready for a some angst and potentially some action to shake things up a bit. I'll be interested to see how people feel about the next one. Not to make it sound bad or anything, I just think I'm going to sort of a new place with hit so we'll see.
> 
> Oh also literally everyone and their mom is aware that this is all going on they're just too polite to say anything.   
> And Mercy may have been essentially using Junkrat as a human guinea pig. Because old habits die hard.  
> And I personally headcanon Junkrat's giant clumps of missing hair to be due to radiation, so that's why in this story he has not quite a full head of hair but it's definitely recovering.  
> And the theme song for this one might be [Lovesick by Banks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m26uYMicFkw) because, well.
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’ve set aside some time for this one because it became far longer than I expected it to be (41k????) and I hope that’s alright but I kind of feel like Junkertown deserves it. If you make it to the end please feel free to leave a comment! And if you find any mistakes please let me know about those too. This is so big it was hard to proof-read.

The base became a hub of activity in the wake of the announcement that they would be going to Australia.  Everyone had their own tasks to take care of, but her own preparations aside it quickly became apparent that she would have difficulty finding an opportunity to catch any significant time to speak with Jamison; he seemed busy with a constant stream of people either wanting to chat with him or offering to help him with his own arrangements.  There was a worry in the back of her mind, an uneasy feeling that she suspected had little to do with her own trepidation in going, but she couldn’t pinpoint it.  It seemed better to spend her time soothing her own concerns so she thought she would wait it out and get her own affairs in order.  It took her to the medical bay to see Angela. 

The woman was clearly busy, her body turned away from the door and her hands occupied by small bottles and packets, the gentle rattling when she put them down suggesting the presence of pills.  But she lifted her head at the sound of Satya’s footsteps and offered her a cheerful smile, her head tipped agreeably to the side with the greeting.

“Oh!  Hello, Satya.  What a pleasure to see you.”

“Hello, Angela.”  Her name came a bit hesitantly; it felt strange from time to time not to refer to her as ‘Dr. Ziegler’, particularly when there on official business, but the woman had requested it and it had become familiar, to a degree.  Perhaps the hesitance came from somewhere else.  The reply was left bare.  It seemed rude even to herself but there was business to attend to and Satya wasn’t feeling terribly conversational.  With the stress of the past day friendly conversation seemed like it would be taxing.  Angela must have picked up on it as she paused for a moment before skipping any potential small talk with no apparent displeasure.

“… are you here to discuss the radiation issue?”

Satya swallowed the sigh of relief.  “Yes.  Do you have the time?”

The woman’s smile was unflappable.  “Of course.  I believe it’s most of the team’s primary concern.  Not that we don’t put ourselves in danger far too regularly, but we prefer to avoid as much unnecessary harm as possible and this is certainly a bit… atypical.”

Satya appreciated the fact that the other woman moved right down to business.  Angela pulled a bottle of pills from the counter and stepped toward her, holding it out for her to inspect, and Satya took it in her hand, curling her fingers around it and holding it to herself with one narrowed eye to inspect what little she could of them as the other woman spoke.  They were familiar in shape, a jumble of red and yellow through the plastic of the bottle.

“These are what we will be using for the preventative step.  Unfortunately the effects only last for a bit more than an hour, so we will all have to re-dose at regular intervals.  But if used correctly in combination with the later removal it entirely negates the effects of any exposure.”  Angela was still smiling when Satya raised her eyes to her and she continued on with the same soothing tone and it was enough to make Satya wonder how long she had worked at her bedside manner.  It was impeccable.  “Simply try to avoid ingesting or exposing yourself to as many radioactive particles as possible—inhaling dust, eating or drinking—and so long as it’s a low concentration the medicine will prevent them from being integrated into the body.  The removal of radioactive particles and radionuclides from the body once they’ve already integrated is a bit more complicated, but we can do that after the mission if necessary.  It’s just… less pleasant.” 

Satya still held the bottle curiously but with some doubt, somewhat moreso than before despite the woman’s affirmations.  “This has been tested?” 

“Oh, yes.  We are in the removal stage with Jamison but he has shown notable improvement.  When he first arrived I was actually somewhat concerned with how radioactive he was.” 

Satya’s thoughts may have shown on her expression.  Angela went on with a slightly hurried tone to her voice, a reassuring look on her features.

“It’s nothing like that now, however.  He is nearly within the normal range of radionuclides in the human body.  Mako is an anomaly.  He seems to fare better without the medication, for some reason.  He is a matter of ongoing study.  Don’t worry though—he’s still not dangerous to be around.”  She paused and seemed to consider something before offering an addition.  “It’s… unfortunate that they were exposed to so much.” 

There was a hesitance to the words that made Satya look at her more closely, her hand coiling a bit more tightly around the bottle.  There was something that wasn’t being said, but searching the woman’s face offered her nothing further and so she attempted to clear the small frown that had taken over the corners of her lips.  But the dubious and concerned expression must have remained as Angela went on.

“Oh, they’ve both given permission to discuss it with the team.  It is fairly important to the mission after all.”

“Ah.”  Satya’s voice was small and she took a breath with irritation, firming it as she continued.  “I see.”

The pause felt heavy and there was a sense of disquiet as she handed the small bottle gingerly back to Angela, who took it between her fingers with a fleeting smile and turned, returning it to the counter top to place it down with care.  Her voice followed a moment later.

“… I know this likely goes without saying, but we want to be there for them in whatever capacity is necessary.  Jamison and Mako.”  When she turned her hands were folded and she kept her gaze to the side.  It was a marked departure from her earlier behavior and Satya took it in curiously, attempting to decipher the significance of it as she continued.  “I believe Jamison may be more at risk, however.”

“At risk?”

A small, reluctant sigh escaped the other woman.  “I am not a trained psychologist, so I say this as a friend and not a doctor.  But I have concerns about exposing him to that environment again.  It… I don’t think it was good for him.  For either of them, really, but I think Mako may handle it a bit better.”  Her eyes flitted back to Satya, her brows raised gently with the words.  “If you notice any aberrant behavior in either of them could you please let me know?” 

The words struck her and Satya considered them for a moment, her lips drawn in a thin line.  ‘Aberrant behavior’ for Jamison was… well, she wasn’t certain what it was, and the same could be said for Roadhog.  She supposed she could only hope she recognized it when she saw it.  “Of course.”

“But what about you?” 

Angela’s smile had returned and the change in topic jarred Satya a bit, forcing her to find her balance once again.  She spoke with a confidence she was no longer entirely sure she felt. 

“I’m certain I have seen worse.”  She paused, feeling as though it needed more explanation despite the cringe that came with offering it and her eyes flitted to the side in a way that she realized too late seemed evasive.  “Between the places I have worked at Vishkar and my childhood home.  Please don’t worry yourself on my behalf.”

“It’s very kind of you to go.”

Satya blinked at the abrupt statement.  “I would do so for anyone on the team.”  The words felt defensive and sounded a bit suspicious, but honest all the same, and it was only after she’d said them that she realized it.

“I know.”  Angela’s smile was genuine.  “I hope you know how much we appreciate it.”

Satya couldn’t help the bit of confusion that bled into her tone.  “Of course.”

“It’s something I should have said before, but I’m sorry if I was ever hesitant with you.  I realize now that I wasn’t certain at first where your loyalties were, with you coming from Vishkar.”  The woman’s head tipped to the side gently as she continued, the smile broadening and forcing her eyes narrower from it.  “But you made it very clear very quickly who you were.  It was small-minded of me and I do regret it.”

The revelation came as a surprise and Satya could feel her eyes widen slightly with it.  She would have never expected it.  She missed things, sometimes, but she had never noticed a sense of guardedness from Angela, or from the rest of the team.  Perhaps she might have viewed them differently if there had been.  Perhaps she might not have been so open.  Despite the slight sting of it she realized she was grateful and she returned the smile, not quite as bright but the best she could manage.

“It’s alright.  And if it’s any consolation I never noticed.  I understand why you may have felt that way.”

“Thank you, Satya.”  Angela had stepped closer, closing the distance between the two of them, and she lifted her hands to briefly grasp Satya’s own.  It was short-lived, a fact that was relieving; it was a nice gesture but it made her somewhat uncomfortable all the same.

The woman withdrew a moment later and shifted her attention as she spoke, turning away again with the apparent intent on returning to her work.  “Let me and the rest of the team know if you need anything else before we go.  This should be an interesting one.”

It was an obvious dismissal and Satya nodded, primarily to herself.  “Of course.  Thank you, Angela.”

‘Interesting’ was one way to put it, and the thought occurred to her that maybe preparing herself by looking through some of the materials that had been prepared for them would help to put her at ease, so she shifted her weight to move toward the door, pointing her feet toward the briefing room with steeled resolve.

 

* * *

 

 

Satya had settled in in the quiet of the briefing room, reading articles and looking over photographs in preparation.  It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen or read before, not really, but it seemed like it might be a useful activity.  She quickly grew tired of it, finding her focus drifting to other things, and it wasn’t long before she flicked her fingers over the monitors, shutting them down, and made her way to the door.

Roadhog was waiting for her as she left. 

She didn’t realize that he’d made a special attempt to see her at first, assuming the large Junker had merely been on his way down the hallway, but when she stepped into the corridor he turned immediately toward her in a way that made the scenario clear.  It was surprising enough that the tone made it to her voice, a soft sort of shock and uncertainty.

“Hello, Mako.”

It felt strange in a way, speaking to him, particularly without the other Junker there.  She suddenly realized that in reality they had shared very few words, although she supposed that likely applied to everyone but Jamison.  He didn’t offer her very many more regardless and his voice rumbled out of him with its usual flat tone followed by a low wheeze.

“You don’t have to go.”

It only took a moment.  In retrospect she realized that perhaps she had expected it, the intervening of one or more of the team members, meant to be on her behalf.  It was misguided and a little bit infuriating.  She remembered Jamison’s caginess and his avoidance in the shower room when she had first entered and her eyes narrowed as she considered it, curious and intent. 

“Did Jamison put you up to this?”

“No.”

The indignant feeling in her was briefly strong enough to override Roadhog’s answer.  She could feel the stubbornness welling up and she knew that it had put her in unwise situations in the past but the words came out anyway with even stronger conviction they had had when she had said it in the briefing.  “I’m _going_.”  Her foot was pressed firmly against the ground, her own weight given to the words.  “I do not need to be protected.”

“You won’t like it.”  Roadhog’s low, rumbling voice offered the statement matter-of-factly and without judgment, a shrug rolling over his large shoulders.  And then, perhaps aware of her growing temper he added, “But it’s your decision.”

He stood there silently, his head tipping to the side as he watched her in a way that made the topknot atop his head bob up and down and seemed inquisitive, somehow.  A part of her wanted to hold onto her anger but the large man had backed down so easily that she could see it for what it was—a genuine concern, even if it had felt a little patronizing.  The fault wasn’t only on him; his suggestion so soon after Angela’s comment about her going felt suspicious, as if there had been some conspiring among the team to offer her chances to back out.  But perhaps it was simply bad timing.  At the very least she did trust him not to lie to her, not even on Jamison’s behalf.

Her hands had at some point curled into fists at her side and she raised her chin to look at him squarely, a slow breath doing a great deal to calm her despite the hard set of her jaw.  She did her best to sound gracious.  It wasn’t something she was particularly good at, especially not when still irritated, and she knew it sounded colder than she’d intended it to.

“Thank you, Mako.”

The large man grunted, a thing that ought to have sounded disaffected but still somehow managed to seem both benign and apologetic, and he turned his body toward the door with a final, low rumble.  “Let me know if you need anything.”

* * *

 Jamison was in the hangar when she finally found him the night before they departed.  She was determined not to miss the opportunity to see him, to check in on him especially given what Angela had said, and it had resulted in her staying up past her usual time, something that seemed to be a pattern.  But she had found him at any rate, perched up on a short ladder next to the side of the drop ship with his attention fully focused on some task.  She moved quickly until she was at the base of it and craned her head upward, the short distance leaving her perfectly in view and yet seemingly unnoticed.  She tried words instead.

“Hello.”

There was no response from him and somehow the fact that she went ignored stung.  It felt like a juvenile thing and she brushed it away with annoyance at herself, stepping forward a bit more and opting to try again.

“Jamie?”

He blinked, raised his head, and seemed disoriented until his eyes finally came to rest on her and he pulled his attention away from what he was doing, casting a look over his shoulder around the otherwise empty room before looking back.

“Well.  G’day.  Or… evenin’.  What time is it?”  The question sounded lost and a bit concerned, as if he had known and forgotten it rather than simply not knowing it in the first place.  She searched his face carefully, taking advantage of the fact that it was finally fully visible to her and the fact that no one else was there to watch her too closely.  There were still those dark circles under his eyes, deepened from the passage of time and the dim light of the hangar but his lips had pulled back in a grin that seemed genuine enough.

“It’s late.”  She tried to weigh the merits of it but the words came out of her anyway, her tone concerned rather than chiding.  “Have you considered sleeping?”

“No rest for the wicked, love.  Got a lot to do.”

He was already moving again, his focus back on the drop ship and the object in his hand, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, snagged between sharp teeth.  It took her a moment to fully realize what he was doing—splashes of yellow paint marked his forearm and his fingers, the paintbrush in his hand similarly colored—and her eyes drifted to the surface of the drop ship where a wide, uneven circle was slowly coming into existence.  She could feel the hesitance in her voice and a part of her hated it.  It was unlike her to be delicate, although perhaps she was lucky.  Perhaps that was what the situation required.  She tried her best.

“Do you have permission to do this?”

There was a beat, a slight pause before he answered, just enough to give him an undercurrent of uneasiness.

“What, from ol’ peanut butter breath?  Nup.”

“Jamie… he won’t like it.  This seems unwise.”

He cringed, visibly, and the grin became something genuinely apologetic as his hand came to a slow stop and he pulled his attention away from his work again to look at her.  His features were a strange mix of stubbornness and resolve and trepidation that she couldn’t understand. 

“Sorry, love.”  He’d managed the words but once they were out of him his concentration drifted away again, his eyes moving slowly back toward the side of the drop ship compulsively and she watched his mechanical hand give a sudden, hard twitch before he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, a movement that he followed up with a series of hard blinks before he managed to look at her once again.

She watched it all curiously and the close observation left her forgetting to respond. 

He stood there staring blankly at her for a long moment, the brush still in his hand, and she was just about to say something when he suddenly snapped back to reality, his teeth working at his inner cheek uncertainly and his voice a bit smaller than before.

“Just makin’ sure they know it’s mine, y’know?”

A gentle crease worked its way onto her brow as she mused over the explanation and she took a slow breath meant to instill patience.  “So it’s protection, of a sort.”

“Yup.  Puttin’ me signature on it, as it were.”

It was a puzzling thing and she focused her mind on trying to think through it.  “You have a target on your back, though.  Won’t this just draw more attention?  How will this not make it worse?”

Her questions seemed to be agitating him further and she watched it happen with an interest she was ashamed of, her lips pulling back to expose his teeth and a stubborn set to his jaw.  He had begun to seem twitchier in his movements and the giggle that came from him was reedy, high-pitched and weak, a laugh only in name.  She could detect no amusement in it at all and wondered if it was more of a nervous reflex, much like the curl of his lips, the expression not quite a smile.  Something she couldn’t find a name for that tinged his voice with defensiveness.

“’Target’ seems a little dramatic.” 

“It’s accurate.”

He closed his eyes briefly, tight, before waving the brush in his hand in a dismissive way, as though the thought wasn’t worth either of their time.  “A’right, a’right.  But anyway, somethin’ nice an’ shiny like this?  Better than it bein’ unclaimed.  Trust me.” 

It didn’t seem as though there was much paint left and the logo looked thin in a way that made it look old and faded, something that she thought perhaps made it even better for his purposes.

“And what about you?”

“Got meself more than enough firepower behind me.  No need to worry.”

Something was wrong and she absolutely hated it, knowing it and not being able to identify it or do anything about it, and it almost seemed as though everything she said was making it worse.  She wondered if her presence itself was the problem and could think of only one way to find out.

She moved closer to the ladder and came to a slow stop, looking up at him.  “Could you come here, please?”

He looked at her for a moment with a dull sort of confusion before he answered.  “… yeah, a’right.”  The paintbrush was put down reluctantly and he pressed his lips together as he worked on getting down the few steps, a task made more difficult by the peg leg, but soon enough he was on the ground in front of her, taking a deep breath, his hands in his pockets and his expression a strange sort of expectant, like he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

She stepped forward and carefully avoided the paint, resting her fingers around his biceps instead and raising up to her toes to place a tentative kiss on his lips and he softened noticeably, the tension of the muscles under her palms relaxing in a way that was satisfying, taking his hands from his pockets and leaning toward her but thankfully not taking hold of her.  He followed after her as she withdrew for another one before appearing to remember what he was doing.  There was a short pause before a breathless laugh escaped him, something surprised and entirely different in tenor than before, and the question came from him as a pleasantly confused mumble.

“What’s that for?”

It wasn’t her that was causing him the distress then, she was certain of it, and her lips pulled upwards with a smile at the realization.  There seemed no need to be dishonest so she didn’t bother trying to couch the words in anything softer.  “You’re acting strangely.”

The laugh that came from him was another wheezing thing but it came with a fond smile.  It was something better, at the very least.  “Roadie’d say I always act strange.”

“I suppose he is right.”

“That mean you’re gonna keep kissin’ me?”

“Perhaps.  It depends on what type of strange you’re acting.”

His expression suggested a slow realization as a crease worked its way onto his forehead and he looked at her more closely, pulling back to stand straight, his head tilted slightly to the side.  “You’re thinkin’ there’s somethin’ wrong.”

The change was not encouraging, but it didn’t seem severe, so she answered with a simple, “Yes.”  It was perhaps the wrong thing to say, something she realized afterwards, but it was the truth and she wasn’t certain she would have been able to say anything different.  The way he had pulled away suddenly felt as though it had created a much larger distance as he responded with a certain terseness in his voice.

“Well there ain’t, not with me anyway.”

Ah, no.  The conversation had abruptly begun to go somewhere she felt hopeless about recovering and so she simply lowered her chin in a half-nod before the word, hoping the simple agreement might save it from catastrophe.  “Alright.”  

He glanced from her back to the side of the ship and the ladder with indecision before turning away to return to the task, moving more quickly than she would have thought he was capable.  He flicked the paintbrush deftly back into his hand and was back to painting dutifully, his eyes firmly on the ship and looking not entirely untroubled.  But her agreement seemed to have opened something up in him and the silence seemed to prompt him to fill it and so he did, the earlier defensiveness in his tone easing by only a slight margin.

 “To be honest I don’t much see the point in it.”

She wasn’t about to press her luck so she simply prompted him to go on with a gentle, “Hm?”

There was a wince from him, a harsh inhalation as though he was trying to decide something or trying to find something in himself.  The twitchiness returned as he went on, his fingers moving over one-another with a buzzing, nervous energy under the words that sped them up, requiring him to pause a bit longer between the sentences to make up the time, the painting briefly forgotten.  He didn’t look at her but perhaps it was better that he didn’t.  Avoidance eased the set of his jaw slightly, his earlier expression no longer holding a deathgrip on his features but he still looked troubled somehow and was growing moreso as he talked.

“Maybe we get some information, sure, but if Winston thinks there’s some kinda way to make a treaty he’s dreamin’.  Said somethin’ about makin’ sure there ain’t any more bounty hunters after me.  Fat chance of that, you ask me.  Not that it matters.”  He didn’t elaborate on the statement and she didn’t want to tempt fate and luckily he went on in a way that made her think perhaps he was speaking mostly to himself.  “‘Course I guess he’s talked himself outta a few sticky situations before.  Might convince a few of ‘em.  It ain’t like there’s a king or anythin’.”

Curiosity got the best of her and he seemed engrossed in what he had been saying, which was as good of a sign as she could hope for.  “Is there even a point in going?”

“Depends.  Winston’s got this idea they might’a been hired by real businessmen or somethin’ like that.  Junkers generally don’t trust people in fancy suits.  I reckon they won’t have any issues throwin ‘em under the bus if we make it worth their while.  Dunno how we’re gonna do that, quite, but I guess we’ll figure that out later.”

She was satisfied to let him talk and it seemed like the quieter she was the more he did it.

“At any rate I guess we’re goin’.”  For the first time he didn’t sound particularly enthused about it.  It seemed almost as though he had forgotten her and suddenly recalled her presence by the way a small twitch moved across his shoulders and he glanced in her direction with a grin.  “Fair warning, most of ‘em would just as soon stick you as shake your hand.” 

“Should we be worried about their firepower?”

“Compared to ours?  Nah.  It’s mostly primitive stuff.  Not that it can’t be effective.”  His lips curled higher, a cock of his arm in mimicry of the pose it would have if were holding the frag launcher in it.  “’s why Roadie’s got the scrap gun.  You wouldn’t _believe_ the price of bullets.”

There was a short silence as she thought.  It may have been a bad idea.  She was certain, in fact, that it was, but the words came from her anyway, the memory of what Angela had said still fresh in her mind: the place hadn’t been good for him.  “You know you don’t have to go.”

His tone was not encouraging, nor was the way he looked down to her, suddenly forgetting the task he was working on.  “… what?”

 “Surely Mako knows just enough as you do to get us through this.”

There was a moment in which she thought perhaps he might agree as his lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line, but a laugh burst out of him, an oddly bubbling thing, one that marked her statement as patently ridiculous but the tension was back in the muscles of his jaw and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he looked back to his painting.   “I know things Roadie doesn’t and I got connections.  And besides, miss a chance to visit all me old mates?  I don’t think so.”

She felt as though she could do little to dissuade him and the thought occurred to her that she didn’t really have the right, that perhaps she was behaving just as Roadhog had to her.  It was well-intentioned.  She supposed that didn’t make it any less frustrating to hear.

She thought that perhaps it was meant to be comforting when the words came from her before she realized she was saying them.  A reminder.  An implied offer of support.  “I’m coming as well.”

His answer was bitten between his teeth when he gave it, an attempt at a grin that seemed slightly wrong, and the giggle that escaped him sounded uneven and nervous.  “More’s the merrier right, love?  Can’t wait for you to see it.”

He went quiet after the words and seemed to focus more intently on painting, lifting his chin so that his features were mostly out of her sight.  It felt uncomfortable to leave him, but she supposed it was about as much as she was going to get out of him for the night, and she did have her own sleep to attend to.  So she tucked her hair carefully behind her ear as he stepped back, trying to get one more look at his face and finding it to be unreadable as she started her retreat in earnest, calling out a gentle request.

“Sleep soon, yes?”

He didn’t look away from what he was doing.  Instead she saw his chest lift with a long, careful breath that he released with a terse nod, his eyes wide and focused on the ship in front of him and his voice sounding distracted with the response.

“Sure.”

* * *

 

 Satya arrived at the hangar early in the morning, intent loading their gear as quickly and efficiently as possible.  She never required much for herself; many of the other team members had more than enough to keep themselves busy and it was only natural to help.  The rest of the team had been trickling in but the Junkers were conspicuously absent.  She supposed it had been a late night for Jamison, at least, that he likely still had things to pack from the workshop, and Roadhog was probably with him.  The parts for Torbjörn’s turrets were occupying her when Winston entered the space.

The stark yellow of the smiley face painted on the drop ship seemed to stand out more brightly in the light of day and she could tell the gorilla was not appreciative by the way he stopped and looked at it in absolute silence, the way large fingers lifted after a moment to pinch the skin above his nostrils, the way his broad shoulders slumped in a quiet sigh.

Every other member of the crew had gone through nearly the same reaction when they’d seen it and Satya gathered at the gorilla’s side along with Angela and Torbjörn as he stopped, staring up at it.  It was uncanny, and were it not for the fact that it was clearly causing Winston some amount of distress she would have found it amusing.  His mutter was enough to draw her out of the thought.

“This won’t exactly be discreet when we have to refuel.”

Angela’s contribution drew a wince from her.  “There’s one on the transport ship, too.”

It took her a moment, a second’s hesitation, but she drew in a breath, keeping her eyes on the bright yellow paint as though attempting to decipher it just as the others were.  “He said it was so that they knew it was claimed property.  I think it’s meant to protect it, basically.”

The explanation, at least, seemed to soothe Winston’s bafflement with it all, and as she glanced towards him she could see the acceptance in the way his eyebrows raised as he released another sigh, one that was deeper and sounded resigned.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I get the feeling his symbol is more well known in Junkertown than I’d like.  I would have thought the Overwatch symbol would have done the same job just fine.”

She pressed her lips together gently as she looked towards it again, examining it.  It was nothing like the sleek, refined circular design that signified Overwatch property.  The edges were uneven, the paint was dripped, the design was bright and loud.  And unique.  She couldn’t deny that.  It would likely fit in where they were going while still retaining a distinct identity.  Perhaps that was the point.  Winston’s voice tugged at her attention again and the exasperation was gentle, but clear.

“I’m sure he means well but we need to work on his communication.  And following orders.  All I want is for him to ask about this kind of thing.”

“I think he may be nervous about going.”  Satya could feel Angela’s eyes on her and she took a breath.  It felt oddly like some sort of betrayal, speaking of him when he wasn’t around, sharing things that she wasn’t certain were private or not, but Angela had asked her opinion, trusted her judgment, and it seemed wrong to keep it from them.  Dangerous, perhaps, and she felt as though her words might explain something, might elucidate the scenario and make it easier to understand.  “When he explained it to me.  I just… got a feeling.  Perhaps that affected his judgment.”  The words were left unsaid: perhaps he shouldn’t be judged too harshly on it.

Torbjörn’s voice was a low mutter but clearly defensive in spite of it.  “It’s not a bad idea anyway, if he thinks it’ll help.  Not like it won’t come off.” 

Angela joined in, pointing the words towards Winston.  “I’m sure he’ll help remove it once the mission is over.”

Satya watched from the corner of her eyes as the gorilla nodded his silent, grudging agreement and straightened his posture with a slow inhale that flared his nostrils.

“Fair enough.  We’d better get back to it.”

The ship was nearly packed by the time the Junkers reached the hangar, the jangling of a chain and the firm step of boots and the low, muffled sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor signifying their arrival.  Jamison was pulling a duffel bag across the floor with apparent effort, a grunt escaping him as he tugged it another foot before stopping to take a breath, the rip-tire settled firmly into the harness across his back, a single trap attached to it.  Roadhog paused beside him, the quiet rattling of the sack tossed over his shoulder and the sway of the chain at his hip coming to a slow stop as he tipped his head with a questioning grunt of his own, but Jamison lifted his hand to wave him away.

“I’ve got it mate, go ahead.”

It left Jamison alone as Roadhog continued to the ship and she watched as Winston took the opportunity to approach him.  They were off some distance to the side but it wasn’t difficult to hear, and she held her ground for a moment a short distance away as the gorilla’s voice drifted to her, followed quickly after by Jamison’s, sounding utterly unconcerned.

“Jamison.  We need to talk about the paint job.”

“Right… sorry, mate.  Sorta came to me late.  Stroke of inspiration.” 

A crease worked its way onto her brow and she shook her head gently, closing her eyes.  It seemed wrong to eavesdrop, particularly on a conversation that might have been sensitive and had so little to do with her anyway, and so she steeled her resolve and made her way into the drop ship, their voices fading into the background.

* * *

 

The flight was a long and uncomfortable one.  Despite the technologically advanced nature of the drop ship it was still a full day of travel.

Idle conversation kept her mind off of the mission and so she engaged in it when she could, cornering Reinhardt to discuss whatever came up.  Brigitte had come along as well, and she found some solace in inquiring about her; she had had little time to interact with her and felt a faint pang of guilt over it as they spoke.  So far as she could tell the others had made her feel welcome, but it didn’t make her regret her own lapse in hospitality any less.  Angela read.  Jamison went through bouts of uncharacteristic silence when she had the occasion to look towards him, a somewhat tattered notebook at his bouncing knee, his head bent, a pencil scratching at the paper.  Roadhog sat at his side, his arms crossed over his chest.  His own silence wasn’t unusual, but it felt slightly oppressive, and very few of them made any effort to disturb them aside from Torbjörn, who peppered the silence with the occasional question, inquiries, she thought, about whatever Jamison was sketching on the paper, and although Jamison didn’t seem to have objections to the intrusions on his concentration he didn’t seem particularly welcoming of them either.

She slept; they all did, she suspected, or at least hoped.  It was nothing restful but it was enough to fill a basic physical need, and although the departure from her routine left her feeling disoriented when she woke she took the time to ground herself with closed eyes, focusing on the lingering quiet of the ship while it lasted.  She barely had the time before Winston’s voice came over the speakers.

“Approaching our coordinates.”

There was no Overwatch satellite base in the Outback.  There would be no need for one.  And with the limited space and fuel capacity of the smaller transport ship they were left with no choice but to use the drop ship as their temporary headquarters, the point from which they would leave, a solitary oasis parked in the middle of a red-earthed desert without any civilization in sight. 

The drop ship touched down, a quiet hiss filling the cabin as it lowered, and she took a long, slow breath before bringing her hands to the belt slung across her waist, pulling the clasp and carefully extracting herself from it.  She focused on her own thoughts and the beat of her heart as she heard the shuffling of the rest of the team around her as they did the same.  There was no eagerness in her, only grudging will, but it was enough to set her posture straight, her chin lifted as she reached into the slim pocket at her hip and withdrew the small packet of pills, pulling it open and removing one, taking it with a heavy swallow before carefully replacing the packet where it belonged.  Her fingers found the small comm device at its place at the side of her seat and tucked it over the curve of her ear, pressing a small button to set the timer, the device beeping gently once in confirmation.  Winston’s voice followed almost immediately after, deep and somehow comforting even through her distraction.

“Comm check.”

“Symmetra online.”

The others checked in one by one and she listened, focusing on their voices as she stood in front of the hatch, her eyes following what little she could see through the small window.  Earth and dust, pale blue sky, and emptiness.  Jamison’s voice came last and was chased after by a characteristic giggle, high-pitched and sounding exuberant in something that felt like such a contrast to her own mood that it forced a deep breath from her.

The door opened and slowly sank to the ground to create a ramp, leaving the what felt like the entire world bare in front of her.  It was a patch of nowhere with nothing in sight except a single rusted, roofless jalopy—a dusty piece of metal scrapped together over rubber tires, a cracked glass windshield and an open cab, the entirety of it exposed to the hot air—parked a short distance away to avoid the possibility of damage from the lowering drop ship, a weathered set of tire tracks leading off into the distance over the red horizon, and for a moment she felt the weight of it, forgetting the rest of the team at her back until Angela’s voice pierced her thoughts.

“Well… here we are.”

The simple statement was inarguable, so much so that despite the landscape she felt her lips curling upward in a faint, amused smile.  “I suppose so.”

So they exited, placed their feet down in the dirt, Satya with hesitancy and Angela with an unflappable smile, the clatter of metal indicating that Reinhardt was following behind.  The small transport vessel disconnected from the drop ship with a hiss of air and a groan, Lena at the helm and a small plume of dust kicking up around it.  She could hear the scuff-clack of Jamison’s peg leg on the walkway as he made his way out of the ship, the heavy steps of Roadhog following along with him, and the gentle shuffle of metal on metal muffled, she could only imagine, from the duffel back she had seen him carrying earlier.  She pointedly didn’t look back at them but kept her eyes forward instead, both distracted and not wanting to be seen paying them too much attention.  Her eyes were locked as she eyed the car more closely and felt a moment of dread at the thought of riding in it, coiling an arm across her stomach, resting her opposite elbow upon it in a pose meant to project casual disaffection and she desperately hoped it worked. 

Winston addressed them first as they all trickled out of the ship and into the sun, for once without a tablet in his hand or anything else to occupy it and it made him seem a bit uneasy.

“Alright.  We’re not going to be able to be inconspicuous, but there’s a difference between dropping a giant ship down on top of them and showing up in a couple of smaller vehicles that, at least, shouldn’t get the attention of the _entire_ town.  Junkrat’s idea.  Thank you for that.”

It was clear Jamison hadn’t been listening from the way he lifted his head abruptly at the mention of his alias, his hands still on the duffel bag slung over his back, his body straightening, and his expression briefly confused before he broke into a wide and somewhat guilty-looking grin.  She let her eyes linger and found that it didn’t last—it was only a moment after the others turned their attention back to Winston that he craned his head up toward Roadhog and turned the grin toward the large man instead, everything else in it replaced by a simple excitement as he bounced slightly on his foot in a way that made the shocks of the peg leg creak and it was doubtful that he heard Winston as the gorilla went on. 

“Torjorn will be staying with the drop ship with Brigitte and our bounty hunter friend for safekeeping.  That leaves myself, Junkrat, and Roadhog in the car their contacts provided and Reinhardt, Tracer, Mercy, and Symmetra in the transport ship.”

There was no dissent; they’d been briefed on the flight over and given the basic details of the plan and it was simple enough that it needed no argument.  She knew that she had been slated to ride in the confined space of the transport ship from the beginning, but the re-assertion of the fact that she wouldn’t have to ride in the car was deeply relieving all the same.

“We’ll go in first and find a good place to park the transport ship.  It might be a little touch and go until we can find a relatively clean and secure spot but Junkrat and Roadhog have some ideas and we’ll be in constant contact via the comm system.  We _will_ be on short range channels, though, so those of you watching over the ship and the car will want to keep relatively close to one-another, within sight at all times.  Any questions, let me know.”

It had struck her as strange from time to time to use short range devices on smaller missions, but Overwatch was technically an illegal organization after all; they no longer had a secure satellite to use and it wasn’t as though their location offered many options in terms of cellular reception.  Short-range channels seemed safe enough for their purposes.  But Winston had finished and there was some reloading to do so the group began to disperse to their own tasks and she allowed herself a moment to simply take in what was there and ground herself in it until the basics of the pace faded into background noise, the simple barrenness and dusty nature of the earth no longer serving as a distraction so that she could more easily focus herself on other things.

She shifted her eyes back to the drop ship where the Junkers were moving further supplies out into the sunlight, Jamison hefting the rip-tire down the ramp before dropping it heavily onto the ground, nestling it between his knees to secure it in a vertical position as he stood up straight once again, his hands on his hips and his chest rising and falling a bit more heavily than usual and his eyes pointed out over the flatness of the place with a look that almost made it seem as though he were admiring it.  As he pulled himself out of it and got back to his task it began to become clear that underneath it he was a live-wire, that there was something else under the enthusiasm, woven in between the threads and she couldn’t put her finger on it but it had given him a strange energy, something twitchy and uneven, something she’d seen before and something that always seemed to signify that something was coming on the horizon, something wrong.  It was hard to detect but she was sure it was there in the way he laughed when Roadhog sidled up beside him and said something, the whole of him moving with it, his arms bent upward toward himself and his hands curled into loose fists, the way he grinned, all teeth and in a way that seemed to strain his cheeks, still visible in his eyes but with something more added in.  It made her feel uneasy.  She was interrupted from the thought with a start as Winston was suddenly beside her.

“Symmetra, would you mind putting up a turret array?”

She latched onto the words like a lifeline, holding onto them tightly against the feeling that moved through her, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have, and given how closely she was watching Jamison maybe she had been.  Somehow she managed a smile as she responded.  “Of course.”

Ultimately it was a welcome distraction, almost a meditation as she busied herself with placing turrets, and the motion of it helped to clear her mind, the tension leaving her as a quiet sigh.  She made her way around the ship, slipping briefly into a welcome silence as she separated from the rest of the team.  The weaving of it came easily and it was only a minute or so before she was done, feeling lighter for it, allowing her attention to drift toward the sound of something striking against metal as one of Torbjörn’s turrets slowly came into being, set squarely in front of the drop ship door. 

“Thanks for the backup.”

The voice surprised her and she blinked as she looked down at the man, an eyebrow raised in question.

“The turrets.”

“Ah.”  Her eyes flitted away to briefly review her work before returning to him.  “Yes, of course.  I hope we don’t need them.”

He chuckled, hammering on the turret in front of himself a few more time as if to drive home the point.  “Don’t worry about us, we’ve got plenty of firepower.  I’d like to see anyone try to get within thirty feet of us.”

She had seen the turret in action and she couldn’t help but agree as he went on.

“I’m more worried about you lot.  I’m not sure what you’ll find out there.  I’m not sure Winston is, either.  The only ones who seem to have a good grasp on it are those two.”

Her eyes shifted to the forms of Jamison and Roadhog as they were returning to the drop ship, having already packed one load of supplies in the jalopy.  A white stick jutted out from between Jamison’s lips as he sidled up to a small pile of containers still waiting, she assumed, to be packed, and knelt down to pop open the cap of one of them.  She couldn’t help but watch for a moment; he was busying his fingers with a small pouch, a collection of white sticks in his hand, and she realized abruptly that they were suckers.  A rattle of metal, and the suckers were stuffed in the pouch which he tucked neatly in the satchel at his hip that typically held mines and detonators.  The mines were clearly still there, but the addition made the satchel bulge in a way that seemed somewhat less secure even as he finished buckling it down.

She thought it was a bit strange but he raised his eyes, caught her looking, and smiled, lopsided and bright.  She narrowed one eye gently but otherwise offered no response, looking instead back to Torbjörn, who she was glad to see had returned his attention to his turret.

Everyone seemed to be nearly done with their preparations.  The transport ship lowered carefully to the ground where it settled, ready for them to load up, and Winston looked toward it appraisingly before turning his attention out toward the Jalopy and nodding to himself.

“Alright.  Looks like we’re ready to go.  We’ll get a slight head start, stay in contact.”  The dismissal came with a wave and a small, encouraging smile before the gorilla turned and began to amble toward the jalopy at a measured pace and she let her eyes follow after him. 

Roadhog was at the wheel as Winston settled in in the seat beside him and Jamison had lifted the rip-tire to load it into the back seat of the vehicle.  The car bobbed slightly as he dropped it in, reminding her of its weight—something that was easy to forget when he was carrying it.

He hopped up into the back seat, swinging neatly into the vehicle with a practiced motion that made him look like he belonged and even from the distance it took her suddenly back to a time too long ago, a place paused by tragedy and stuck in its own timeline where cars still had wheels and coughed out black exhaust as they came to life with a horrible roar and the jalopy was suddenly lurching forward, dirt flying out from behind it as the wheels dug into the ground, leaving deep marks.

It was enough to force her into a hasty retreat and the last thing she saw was the vehicle tearing off across the desert pointed out into the nothingness on the horizon, Roadhog’s topknot bobbing lightly in the wind and Jamison’s fingers wrapped around the metal of the door as he leaned out over the empty space, the goggles on his face already caked with a line of dust and a wide, toothy smile on his face, his gold teeth glinting in the sun. 

* * *

 

They had found a place for them to land with more ease than she had expected and it seemed as though they had arrived too quickly for her to fully prepare herself.

The transport ship dropped down in what seemed like the equivalent of a square, a space opened up between a myriad of shelters.  What they had been able to see from overhead left her feeling more nervous.  Larger structures peppered in between smaller ones that she didn’t know the purpose of but that looked foreboding all the same, some adorned with spikes.  She was grateful that the space they had dropped down into seemed to have fewer of those.  As the door opened and the harsh sunlight poured in she realized that the area they’d chosen to land in looked almost pleasant by comparison.  It wasn’t necessarily bustling with people but the square seemed well-populated enough and it was clearly meant to be a gathering place.  Carts and people moved by, most pausing to look at them but most also dispersing a second or two later, some with eyes narrowed in what seemed like suspicion.  But they were disembarking and she had little choice but to ignore it.

She paused at the end of the walkway of the transport ship, her feet hesitating, frozen with indecision, but a moment later she willed them over the threshold and onto the dusty, hard-packed ground.

It felt as though she was suddenly enveloped by the place and she took a deep breath to keep it from taking her aback, focusing instead on her senses, narrowing them to concentrate on one thing at a time lest it become overwhelming.  The loud rattle and jangle of metal as a cart went by, packed with scrap and strange, time-worn artifacts.  The hot gust of air that followed.  And the smell, a vaguely familiar mix of oil and gasoline and the faintest hints of smoke and soot.

The houses were more than rudimentary shelter in some ways, haphazard structures cobbled together from pieces of scrap metal, car doors or whole vehicles, wooden pallets and concrete, a jumble of materials brought together into disorganized shapes that she wasn’t certain how they were staying vertical.  Run down vehicles littered streets and corners, clearly cannibalized for their parts.  A child sat in the trunk of one of them, peering at her curiously, and she stared back, her eyes noting the fabric padding the bed of it and the knick-knacks made of something that looked like bone and feathers, the strange collection of objects she couldn’t determine the purpose of, the decorations just as foreign and rough-hewn as the houses themselves.  A home, if it could be called such a thing.

Some small part of it she could recognize.  She had seen slums from both the inside and out, had known them both intimately and from afar, and while some of it reminded her of things she had seen before it was different in a way she was having trouble defining.  It wasn’t the disordered nature of the structures or the ragged clothing of the inhabitants or the dusty streets.  Those things she knew.  It was something hidden in the strangely-cut hair and the myriad tattoos.  The uneven paint on some of the buildings, the scant flashes of color.  The pieced-together ornaments hanging from windows and adorning pierced noses and ears.

It came to her slowly… it was form rather than function, a consciously-selected choice.  There was a satisfaction with the nature of all of it, a pride even in the dirt and the rust and the grime, and her mind struggled to comprehend it and failed miserably, further attempts only serving to frustrate her.  She closed her eyes against it to shove the thought away, opening them to focus instead on something familiar.  Her team.

Jamison and Roadhog had exited their vehicle and Winston was already a few steps ahead, positioned between the transport ship and the rusted jalopy.  She had become used to seeing Jamison stand more or less straight.  To see him with the tire on his back, his posture bent forward to accommodate the weight, was strange and almost unfamiliar.  Or perhaps it just felt moreso because of the setting.

Lena had slipped ahead of her to group up with Winston, the two of them for a moment engrossed in a brisk conversation, and she cast a glance over her shoulder to see Angela and Reinhardt still at the edge of the transport ship, chatting with one-another quietly.

They’d attracted stares but people were keeping their distance, a scattered mass of tattooed people, the majority of them adorned in scraps of leather, metal, and rubber in the form of makeshift armor.  Jamison and Roadhog could have gotten lost in the crowd.  She stood out like a bolt of color in a washed-out sun-bleached landscape, the clean blue of her uniform seeming far too intense for the setting.  At least she wasn’t alone in it—Lena and Angela in their bright, clean clothing and Reinhardt in his full array of armor, glinting in the sun.  And, of course, a gorilla.  Winston had been right to think they wouldn’t be inconspicuous.

She barely had time to orient herself before there was a flurry of sound at the edge of the square some distance off, a series of raised voices as a scuffle broke out between two Junkers and she stood, astonished, as the struggle went on literally right in front of them, as if they weren’t there at all.  It was a brief thing, the two men shoving away from another with harsh words and seemingly sated from the altercation, but it had still happened and she found herself reeling from the suddenness of it, how it had both started and ended in the span of seconds.  She looked to the team for help processing it but Angela and Reinhardt had disappeared back into the ship and she wasn’t certain if they’d even seen it.  Winston and Lena had lifted their heads but had returned to their conversation, albeit standing a bit more closely to one-another.  She hadn’t expected one of the first things she saw to be quite so… volatile.  When she chanced a look toward Jamison and Roadhog it seemed as though they hadn’t even noticed it.

It was far, far different to be in the place than to simply read about it.  The sinking feeling hit her that it hadn’t really prepared her at all.

Maybe it was to feel less alone, but Satya found herself drawn to Jamison despite her trepidation, stepping carefully as though if she moved delicately she might somehow avoid the dust that picked up with each touch of the ground with the heels of her shoes.  It didn’t work, of course—there was no evading it.  It had seemed worth the try anyway.  He noticed her moving closer and lifted his head with a grin that seemed genuine, a distinctly beaming thing that radiated an enthusiasm she couldn’t feel, and although his expression was catching from time to time it couldn’t pierce the sunken feeling that had already developed in the pit of her stomach.  She clung to his words anyway, needing the distraction.

“Well, we made it.  Ain’t it somethin’?”

‘Something’ was one word for it.  If he noted any significance to her silence it didn’t show, and he leaned in closer with a more subdued smile that still reached his eyes as his hands found his hips and rested there comfortably, his chest raised with the posture despite the tire on his back.

“Wanna see the sights?”

She nearly winced at the suggestion but took a deep breath, attempting to keep her tone controlled.  Attempting to keep _herself_ controlled.  She was beginning to think she may have made a mistake in coming.

“You lived here?”

He grinned, hands on his hips as he stood up a bit more straight, his eyes narrowing pleasantly to accommodate the smile.  She had no idea how he did it, or why given the circumstances, but she could have sworn his chest puffed out farther like he was proud of the answer.  Proud of the _place_ , or at least his place in it.  She had trouble fitting it together with what she knew and the thought took almost no time in frustrating her.

“Yup.  Not bad, right?  Prime real estate.  Right next to the omnium.”

It was relative.  The shadow of the ruined omnium rested in the distance on the horizon, close but still kilometers away.  The radiation there wasn’t entirely prohibitive—people scavenged in the place, after all, _Jamison_ had scavenged there—but it wasn’t recommended, so the sparse towns scattered around the ruins kept their distance to something more habitable, all while allowing for easy access when the need for scrap arose.

She could feel the itch at the back of her mind, the need to understand, and she couldn’t answer the question.  She was too distracted by her own.  A cringe worked its way across her expression as she tried again, attempting to keep the disbelief and disgust from her voice and becoming desperate for a different answer.  As if it would be better if he had simply made the whole of it up.

“This is where you grew up?”

“Oh!”  He’d noticed nothing of her tone, or if he had, it didn’t seem to dissuade him from his answer.  “Nah.  Well… I mean, not really.  Had a little house with me mum ‘n dad for a while there a few clicks away.  Curtains in the windows an’ everything.  Things sorta went sideways when the omnium went up in smoke.  Don’t remember too much from before.  Ended up here when all the water back home dried up.  Funny, that.  Woulda thought with all the radiation this place’d be the worse off.” 

There was a moment, a brief flash of something like puzzlement that showed subtly on his features in his knitted eyebrows, but as he went on he rallied, his lips returning to their former grin and a giggle came with it, rising rapidly in pitch before he cut it off. 

“But who can beat these amenities, yeah?  All the scrap you could ever want.  And if I’m rememberin’ right, good lizard huntin’ too.”

He nudged a hubcap with his peg leg and a lizard scurried out from behind it to a new place under a different piece of scrap, and he looked satisfied with himself and when he turned his eyes to her it almost seemed as if he were looking for approval but she couldn’t give it, not even if she tried.  Something must have shown on her expression.  His own grin had begun to look a little less certain, a little more like a grimace.  Like he’d recognized something in her face that had tipped him off that something wasn’t right, but he was holding onto his enthusiasm doggedly, clinging to some disillusion.  Like a toddler who had fallen and only began to realize he was hurt once the adults started to look panicked.

Her eyes shifted toward Mako for help but the larger Junker was conspicuously silent.  More than silent, his attention seemed elsewhere, and it almost seemed purposeful the way he neither looked toward them nor offered any response, not even a grunt, and she wasn’t even sure he was listening before he abruptly turned and made his way back to the side of the jalopy to leave the two of them alone in each-other’s presence.  It was strange to see him not focused on Jamison, particularly when the lanky Junker was beginning to look vaguely distressed, and she found herself deeply concerned as she looked between the two of them and entirely unprepared to handle the situation.

It was almost enough to make her forget about her revulsion with the setting.

Jamison was looking at her expectantly.  Something in her suggested the words might be a poor choice but they came from her anyway, unstoppable.

“It’s horrific.”

He paused.  It was a moment before he twisted the brief confusion on his face to a grin that verged on apologetic but was somehow determinedly positive at the same time, even moreso than before.  The tone in his voice and his insistence on painting the surroundings as something worth complimenting in any respect must have been indication that he had heard her but not understood the meaning, not fully recognized the firmness of her statement, that it wasn’t something that was up for argument, or perhaps he had recognized it and simply opted to reject it as reality.

“Nah, it ain’t so bad.  Got everything ya need.  Neighbors ain’t always friendly, though.  And keep an eye on your valuables.  There’s thievin’ ankle biters everywhere.”

She tried to hold her tongue.  He seemed so pleased with the place for reasons she couldn’t fathom, as if it were something worth being proud of.  As if it were something she would _want_ to see.  And she knew that when she didn’t understand something she had a tendency to say things that made the situation worse, but with the severity of the place and her incredulity she couldn’t hold herself back.

“It is filthy.  And violent.  There is virtually nothing here for these people.”

There was a second’s silence and then his voice pitched upward in an awkward, disbelieving laugh before he realized she wasn’t joking and it died off slowly as the confused look overtook him again, more pervasively, turning the smile into an uneasy thing that had a baffled look to it but had yet to disappear completely.  “Look, it ain’t… that ain’t fair.”

“I am not certain how that’s true.”  She could see the troubled look on his face as it developed and her mind grasped for the words hastily, as if by saying them more quickly might soothe whatever emotion was growing in him.  “A Vishkar development—” 

The words came to an abrupt stop.  She blinked in surprise, briefly losing focus on what she was saying and scrambling to regather her thoughts.  It was the wrong thing to say and she knew it immediately.  It hadn’t even been intentional.  The words had slipped from her like her kinder thoughts of Vishkar had never truly left her and she pinched her tongue between her teeth to still it. 

But it wasn’t untrue, she _knew_ it.  Despite the truth of what Vishkar was her mind considered what they could _do_ if they applied their skills there, and she allowed herself the fantasy for a moment too long.  It was familiar at the very least, even with the sting that came with Vishkar’s name, and by the time she gathered her voice it was slower, quieter.  Not uncertain, but more gentle and less assured of itself.

 “A city constructed of hard light would be safer.  Cleaner.”  Something in the back of her mind tried to warn her against it but the word came anyway.  “Better.”

He was looking at her strangely.  It was an intense look, his eyes widened and his breath a bit more shallow, raising his chest with it.  It was difficult to decipher his expression, although she knew it was not a good one.  Offense, she thought and despite the fact that he clearly thought she had said something wrong she also couldn’t quite pinpoint why.  She would have said the same thing of the place where she grew up, of her childhood home in Hyderabad, but she realized suddenly that, if asked, she would also have to say the same thing about Vishkar for entirely different reasons.  _Horriffic._   It drew a wince from her.

His agitation had become more clear by the way his muscles twitched, the way the laugh pulled the corners of his lips taut, and the disbelieving snort that followed after it.  He had pulled himself straight and she realized he hadn’t missed her pause, hadn’t missed the significance of it, and it showed in the slight edge in his voice.  “Don’t think Vishkar’s gonna find much here to line their pockets.” 

They were stuck for a moment in time, watching each other, and even with the bit of stubbornness clinging to her she was certain it was with a matching look of indecision and hesitance.  He broke it first with a terse jaw and a worried look to his eyes as he flitted them off elsewhere, uneasy.

“Anyway, hard light ain’t exactly a popular proposition, place like this.  That kinda help ain’t, generally.”  An uneven shrug rolled over his shoulders as his posture slowly returned to its former position under the weight of the tire on his back.  “Have a bunch ‘a suits stroll in, build some things to say it’s theirs and take the town right out from under ya.  That’d feel awful familiar.”

The thought struck her oddly, the idea that someone might _want_ the place, might want it badly enough to take it, and a quiet, huffed laugh of her own joined the words.  “That’s ridiculous.  Is there even anything worth taking here?” 

She didn’t mean the words as a defense of Vishkar, not really, nor anyone else who might utilize a similar method.  It hadn’t felt like a defense at all.  And she hadn’t even considered how insulting it was.  She realized only afterward how it sounded, when his expression changed, his eyes narrowing slowly, and the words pierced her, hitting home far too effectively.

“You tell me.  Was there anything worth takin’ in those slums in Rio?”

If it was betrayal on his features it was hurt on her own, a dismay still mixed with a stubborn irritation, albeit one closely metered by a growing uncertainty.  His eyes slowly widened in some kind of realization as they stared at one-another and it took her a long moment to gather together the words, her voice soft when she finally found it. 

“Am I a ‘suit’?”

His body twitched immediately in something she imagined was close to a cringe, but harsher, more involuntary.  “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I just worked for them.”

She could see his nostrils flare with a sharp outward breath as he cast a quick glance to either side.  Roadhog was busy with the vehicle a short distance away.  Tracer and Winston were still commiserating.  He stepped closer and lowered his voice, his features suddenly pained and a bit too expressive and his hand hovering for a moment close to her, as though he intended to brush it against her arm, but it wavered and he kept his distance.

“Yeah, and you didn’t know what they were up to.”  There was no question in his voice.  It was firm.  He didn’t know the details and yet he was absolving her of it, like he knew for certain.  She watched him closely and despite the hurt she felt the hard grip that had taken over her chest eased slightly.

He still looked wounded but he had begun backtracking at the look on her face, sounding reluctant to, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stand his ground or not.  “I just meant… hard-light ain’t exactly in supply, place like this.  An’ I don’t think the locals’d be keen on it.”

She was having trouble managing the conversation and her focus was slipping and all she could think to do was mirror his statement, her eyes closed hard with it.  “I just meant that we could try to help them.”

She opened her eyes to silence.  He had turned his attention elsewhere, looking out over the people wandering by with distress still obvious on his face, and she knew suddenly that if she said nothing that the conversation would be over and that was how they would end it, the both of them discouraged and unhappy.  It was a conclusion she found she desperately wanted to avoid.

He had become defensive and upset, those things she knew, and so she tried to think carefully about what she said and alighted on a question she hoped would be innocent enough that might also still help her understand.  “Do you miss it?” 

She knew a feeling in herself that sometimes felt like it came close.  It was nonsensical.  But she missed Vishkar from time to time despite knowing what it was.

He was more guarded as he spoke but she supposed she couldn’t blame him.  “Junkertown?  Nah.”  The question seemed to bring the confusion back and he blinked, looking at some undefined point in the distance as he considered his answer and changed it abruptly.  “Well… maybe.”  His mechanical hand lifted up to scratch his head and for a moment he looked a little lost, his eyes turned down to the ground and his features distracted.  “Day I got out I couldn’t have been happier.”  He was no less puzzled by the answer but tried to go on anyway.  “But… sorta has a lot of memories, y’know?”

“Good ones?”

His body twitched, his arms bent at the elbows again to leave his hands in loose fists in front of his chest, an idle pose but a strange one.  The way the silence stretched on, the way he narrowed his eyes in thought, and the grit of his teeth suggested that he was trying to find examples and having a difficult time.  The question had clearly made him more agitated and his tone was defensive again as he answered.  “Some of ‘em.”

The answer and the way it had come to him was disturbing enough in itself and it made her understand even less why he would defend the place.  She felt as though she were trying _so hard_ to understand.  Perhaps it wasn’t missing the place, exactly, or even the history of what was, but a longing for what could have been.  Her mother in her sari, brightly colored and clean, sandals on a dirt floor.  The sound of rickshaws and car horns, a constant noise undying and overlying the buzz of flies.  She felt her skin crawl as her mind went from what sparse good was there to the myriad negative facets, the feel of crushed plastic under her fingers, wet from the river, the smell of soap and the hours spent over a bucket with what clean water they could find, doing her best to wash herself clean.  Her mother had walked kilometers to get it.  You do what you have to do to survive.  Perhaps that wasn’t only restricted to the physical.

Her mind snapped back into focus and for a moment she thought that perhaps she did understand after all but he was already speaking.

“Guess it doesn’t make much sense anyway.”

She didn’t have the opportunity to clarify her own feelings.  Jamison was swarmed abruptly, a pack of small children enveloping him on all sides and he blinked, drawing himself up straight again as they chattered in disorganized bursts of what seemed like excitement.  They were young, perhaps seven or eight, and she could tell as much despite the dirt on their faces, the irregular bits of fabric serving for clothes on their backs.  She watched from her slight distance and took a small step back to accommodate them, uncertain why they had chosen him rather than herself but surprised to find herself feeling guilty for the gratefulness that rushed through her.  It wasn’t as though she didn’t like children, not at all, but the sheer number of them made her shift on her feet uneasily and she pulled her attention away to focus on Jamison instead, who waved them away a foot or two with poorly-concealed good humor, his features trying for a scowl and not quite managing to make it convincing, turning it into a lopsided grin instead.

“A’right, a’right.  Whaddya want, ya little deros?”

It was obvious.  Small hands were held up to him and he seemed to consider for a moment before looking down at the circle of rubber around his wrist, something she had always thought was an odd ornament, a miniature tire perhaps, and he tugged it off of himself and held it out to them, having to bend down to reach their hands.  The bit of rubber was snatched away and Jamison ruffled one child’s uneven hair, blonde and patchy like his own had been when Satya first met him.  It didn’t seem like much but the children seemed happy with it and had begun to abruptly disperse when she noticed a child slipping his hand out of Jamison’s satchel too late, the small pouch in his hand.  The pouch she had seen him stuff full of suckers and scrap.

“Jamie—”

Jamison noticed an instant later when the child was already out of arms reach and he straightened with a low, irritated sound but made no effort to follow after him, his lips curled downward in something like a snarl.  It didn’t feel right, hadn’t settled on his face the way she would have expected.  She wouldn’t have been able to explain why the way he shook his fist was unconvincing, but she couldn’t find it in herself to believe it was genuine, but he called after them all the same, loudly enough for it to strain his voice.

“Get back here, ya bloody mongrels!”

The oddest thing was the broad and crooked grin that came over him when he settled his hands back on his hips and stood straight, arms akimbo, his gold teeth glimmering in the sun, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She understood.  It made it easier to forget their conversation and the sense of failure that came with it, and she crossed her arms gingerly over her chest as a sly look found a home on her features.  It eased her nerves and despite the setting and everything that came with it she offered him a satisfied little smile.  “Convincing.”

There was a simple, pleased smile and a swagger in his step as he moved back towards her and he slung the frag launcher off of his back and found a place for it in the crook of his elbow.

“Gotta make ‘em think they’re workin’ for it.”

She considered it, mulling it over, and found herself with a frown nonetheless, a small and passive thing that matched her voice.  “Surely there’s something more we can do.”

Another sucker was procured from his pocket and he unwrapped it, popped it in his mouth and tucked it against his cheek so that he could speak unobstructed even while his tongue toyed with the hard candy.  His tone wasn’t dismissive but conciliatory in its attempt to be reassuring.  “Nah, they’ll be a’right.  Tough little scrappers.”  He must have seen the look on her face because he paused and took a moment to dig through his pocket, procuring another sucker and held it out for her as an offering as he spoke.  “Way I see it we ain’t exactly stickin’ around.”

She considered the candy in silence but waved it away with a careful little smile to show her gratitude.  He didn’t need to elaborate.  It wasn’t as though they would be there to offer further support, and it wasn’t as if Overwatch could singlehandedly save the entire Outback.  If it even wanted to be saved.

There had been those, in her childhood home, who had done the same to survive.  Steal.  Thieve.  She had never been able to, couldn’t even consider it.  She had had to rely on the kindness of strangers instead.  “I suppose you may be right.”  Her attention had drifted and when she regained it she found him looking at her intently, a meaningful look between the two of them that made her feel awkward like she had somehow revealed too much.  For once he was the one who looked away first.

His face lit up almost immediately.

Jamison craned his neck, standing nearly straight, and she supposed he had somehow picked a face out of the people milling about idly and he raised his voice in a loud call.

“Oi!”

It drew Roadhog’s attention and a number of people looked their way, but two looked directly at them with slowly-widening eyes as Jamison started toward them in his awkward gait without any hesitation whatsoever, a broad grin on his lips.  Roadhog lumbered after.  Satya followed against her better judgment; it was an undeniable curiosity but also somehow staying close to the two of them made it feel safer even if she was awash in a sea of unfamiliar faces, a crowd of rough derelicts and thieves.  It looked for a moment, strangely, like the two strangers intended to run—a hard twitch running through one of them—but they stayed even if they did turn so that their backs were toward Jamison as he approached, as though they thought if they couldn’t see him he might simply go away.  If it was their strategy it didn’t work.  Jamison kept doggedly toward them until he was at the man and woman’s side and the grin remained as he looked at them intently.  His shoulders rose and fell with a breath that was heavier than before,  he couldn’t imagine due to exertion from closing the short gap.  His tone, at least, remained bright, and it was perfectly inconspicuous despite his elevated breathing.

“Well, look who it is!  ‘Ow ya goin’, cobber?”

He received no response from the man save for a quick, nervous glance across the three of them and his gaze lingered on her in a way that made her uncomfortable.  He looked much like many of the other Junkers she had seen, his dark hair long and draped back on his head, the sides of it shaved away.  Rubber tires serving as armor on his shoulders and knees, leather clothing, all rough fabrics that fit in with the rest of the populace.  She would have been surprised Jamison recognized him were it not for two things: the large skull tattoo on his right bicep, two crossed knives etched into his skin underneath it, and the eyepatch over his left eye, held close to his face by weathered leather straps.

She drew her spine straighter, her chin lifted higher, and trained her expression to be something neutral.  Jamison went on as if it were a perfectly normal conversation.

“Didn’t expect to see you ‘ere.  ‘Course I doubt you expected to see me, either.”  A thin giggle escaped him as though he hadn’t been able to catch his breath from his own amusement with himself before he went on. 

“Where are me manners.  This is me bodyguard, Roadhog.  Don’t think you two’ve met.” 

He didn’t introduce Satya.  In fact, he didn’t even look at her, opting instead to watch the other man closely.

Roadhog grunted and the Junker did nothing in response.  Jamison sidled over to him and leaned on him instead, shoving an elbow on his shoulder like it belonged there and making himself comfortable, a broad grin on his face and eyes bright as he rested his cheek against his curled fist.  When the other Junker failed to react other than a slight cringe Jamison turned his attention to Satya instead and pointed toward the man with his free hand, still grinning.

“This ‘ere’s one ‘a me best mates!  Roadie’s heard about ‘ im.  Thompson.”  He looked pointedly at Roadhog and tipped his thumb towards the man in a casual gesture.  “He’s the one who stabbed me in the back once he knew I was worth somethin’.”  The grin suddenly looked so out of place that it took her off guard, seemingly perfectly genuine despite the topic of conversation.  “That ain’t a metaphor, either.  It’s how I got this nasty scar.” 

Jamison lowered his free hand to pat idly at his lower back where his hand instead struck the leather of his belt and the flask, the scar out of sight but most certainly there.  She had seen but not thought much about it and she suddenly wished she had paid more attention, as if she might have been able to uncover the revelation by herself. 

An uncomfortable silence dominated but Jamison seemed perfectly unaware of it, allowing the pause to continue before he went on, Roadhog crossing his arms over his chest in a way that seemed menacing.

“’Course if you’d aimed a little higher you might not be missin’ an eye.”

Jamison, still resting his elbow on Thompson’s shoulder, lifted his free hand to jab his finger directly on the other man’s eyepatch with a quiet but high-pitched giggle.  Thompson still said nothing but she could see a darkness on his features, buried under the pallor of his skin, and it was another detail that Jamison seemed to entirely miss.

“Ya botched that one bloody well didn’t ya, mate?”

He spoke, finally, and his voice was just as coarse as she expected to be, quieted and lowered in a way she had no doubt was meant to be threatening.  “You got a lotta nerve comin’ ‘ere.”

“Oi, you’re the one who tried to kill _me_ , mate.  I was just returnin’ the favor.  You ask me, you got less than you deserved.”

She could see that Thompson’s had formed fists at his sides but he remained still as Jamison pushed off of him and seemed to suddenly remember the presence of the woman.  He stayed where he was, rooted to the ground, and the stare he fixed on her was wide-eyed and seemed as though he intended it to be pleasant, but the tension buzzing through it was obvious and made him look a bit unhinged as he threw his arms wide to gesture at her.  “And _this_ sheila.”

The woman’s stare was perfectly impassive as she looked back at Jamison, her own, long hair cut in a similar fashion to Thompsons on the sides, a strange metal armor—chainmail, Satya recognized—draped over her shoulders and pendants that looked to be made of bone in her ears.

Jamison had failed to say anything further, standing straight, his hands pressed hard against the bones of his hips.  There was no elaboration, just a stare as he reconsidered his tone.  There was nothing friendly in it when it came, dropped to a low tone something near a growl that pulled the corners of his lips back in an expression that approached a sneer.  “How ya been?”

There was more there than was being said.  Much more, she was certain, and she felt a flash of something in her chest that she couldn’t explain.  It was unpleasant, she knew as much.  It was burning.

Given the immovable posture Jamison had taken and the expression that had set itself in stone on his face and the stubborn stance of both Thompson and the woman they might not have been extricated from the interaction were it not for Winston ambling toward them and coming to a slow stop, seemingly without noticing the pressure that had unsubtly filled the air.  He broke in without hesitation and offered the other Junkers a friendly ‘hello’ that did not fit the situation at all before turning his attention to the three of them.

“Junkrat.  Roadhog.  We have people to meet.”

It took a moment for Jamison’s focus to be pulled away, Roadhog’s large hand coming down on his shoulder before he finally cracked the death-like grin and broke the tension in his jaw to speak.

“Looks like I’ve gotta run.  Important business to attend to.  Seeya later, mates.  Toodle-oo!”

Winston turned to leave and Satya ducked breathlessly after him, beyond grateful to leave the other two Junkers behind, cutting in front of both Roadhog and Jamison to remove herself from the situation as quickly as possible and regretting the fact that she had followed Roadhog at all.  She could hear the tone in Jamison’s voice as it drifted to her from behind: jumpy and strangely giddy.

“It was Thompson, Hog!  Can ya believe it?  What kinda luck.”

Nothing about it seemed at all fortuitous to her and she tried to shake the interaction off with a shrug of her shoulders before they approached the jalopy where Lena stood waiting.  Winston addressing her was a welcome distraction.  “Symmetra, you’ll stay with Tracer and watch the car.  Mercy and Reinhardt will be with the transport ship.  Keep an eye on each other.”

She regretted the shakiness in her breath and resolved herself to fix it once Winston and the Junkers had left.  “Understood.”

It was easy, settling in next to Lena as she watched Jamison, Roadhog, and Winston move off.  Jamison had ceased his chattering but she could see the terse curve of his shoulders even with the broad expanse of the tire at his back.  Roadhog moved in his characteristic, heavy steps.  Winston ambled along beside them with large hands curled into fists as they struck the ground, and she imagined he held them tighter than usual, looked for any telltale signs of anxiety in his form, and found nothing definitive.  Against her better judgment she allowed her eyes to drift back in the direction they had come from to find Thompson and the unnamed woman were watching.  It was unexpected, but she trained her expression carefully to something disinterested as she peered back at them with a solid gaze, and they turned and moved away slowly in a way that left her feeling uneasy.

“What do you think?”

Lena’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  She could have meant many things.  The conversation with Jamison was still fresh in her mind with all of the conflicting emotions that accompanied it, the flurry of events had come in too fast and she didn’t have the energy to guess and wasn’t certain she wanted to address all possible topics.  She asked for clarification instead as she turned her eyes toward Lena, glancing over her features briefly. 

“About?”

The other woman offered her an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.  I guess I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”  It was comforting to hear, in a way.  Lena’s nose wrinkled in a good-natured cringe, an interesting expression and one that suited her.  “It’s a bit terrible, isn’t it?”

A gentle beep sounded in Satya’s ear as if on some mysterious cue and her eyes flitted toward Lena where they exchanged a brief glance and a small laugh that broke the tension, Satya’s quiet and deep and Lena’s bubbling from her, loud and buoyant.  It was a relief of a strange sort and Satya nearly settled back against the car before recalling the thin film of dirt and changed her mind, thinking better of it.  Both of them dutifully pulled out their packet of pills and took one in silence.  The moment settled into the background.

“Is this anything like what your home was like, growing up?” 

Satya hadn’t been expecting the question and it must have shown on her face as the other woman quickly backtracked, raising her hands in a gesture of appeasement and apology.  “Sorry, love!  That may have been too forward.”

“No.”  The assurance came quickly but she looked away with it as her arms crossed gingerly over her chest.  It was.  But she liked Lena, and despite her reluctance to discuss it she found herself answering anyway, her voice quiet.  “It… is not dissimilar.”  More thoughts flooded to her and struggled to make their way to her tongue—the differences, primarily, the dry air and the threat of radiation—but the words all felt wrong somehow and her brow furrowed with it as the moment went on, too long, and she abandoned the attempt.  Lena filled the silence.

 “I’m sorry.  It must have been difficult.”

“It was.”  She appreciated the compassion, even if she felt as though she couldn’t thank her for it.  It wasn’t often she brought up her childhood home, let alone discussed the conditions there.  A small voice suggested to her that perhaps this was worse.  She cringed at the thought.

There was a silence before Lena went on in a voice that was more subdued.

“We’ve tried to look into ways to help, before, for places like this.  Not so much lately.  We have enough trouble keeping the lights on, really, and avoiding complications with the Petras Act, let alone trying to lift an entire region out of poverty.”  The other woman leaned back carefully in the silence and adopted Satya’s own posture as she crossed her arms over her chest.  “Pressure on the government from public opinion, proposed sanctions, help from international charity organizations…”  A deep sigh sent her bangs flying upward before they fell back in place.  Satya watched her carefully from the corners of her eyes.  It was concerning, the troubled look on Lena’s face, and she shifted her weight slowly to one side of her hip as she looked at her fully with one gently raised eyebrow.

“It is an impossible task for such a small organization to undertake alone.”

“It’s not a _good_ excuse.  Overwatch is supposed to stand for something and all we can do is stand by and… well.  Watch.”

“It does stand for something.”  Satya paused and allowed her eyes to rove out over the scene in front of them, drawing a long, slow breath in with it.  “I would not be here if it didn’t.”

They exchanged a glance, a brief but comforting thing paired with faint smiles.  It felt for a moment like home, even with the setting, the uncertainty of it.  The strange eyes on them.  It didn’t last.  Lena lowered her voice. 

“It’s strange to be so _surrounded_.”

“I agree.”

“It would have been nice to have more of us.  For this mission, especially, but even just in general.  The base feels so full sometimes, but then to come out to something like this…”

Satya couldn’t help the gentle frown that overtook her.  “Could we have requested Fareeha’s assistance?  I suppose we may already owe her.  And she has her own business to attend to.”

“She had other responsibilities.  But we’ve been looking into some new recruits.”

The statement was unexpected and Satya blinked, her eyes narrowing gently as she looked at Lena more closely.  “Oh?”

The other woman smiled but it seemed vaguely uneasy.  “Nothing solid, yet.  We were hoping… well.  If we’re going to bring them on we need to make some arrangements first.  We’ll need to assess some things.  I suppose some things depend on how well this mission goes.”

Satya felt like there was something she was missing or something being left unsaid and she couldn’t determine what it might be.  She had the option of asking or of letting it go.  She wasn’t certain if Lena would offer more if she asked and she opted to let it be and the topic died quietly.  Lena seemed happy enough to move on that she supposed she made the right decision.

“The three of them going in there alone, though.  I don’t like it.”

“Winston said he didn’t forsee any issues.”

“It’s just too unpredictable for my liking.  Usually the people we deal with are a bit more reasonable.”

Satya raised an eyebrow gently and Lena dropped her voice to explain. 

“We’re hoping they will be, but it’s hard to tell.”  She hesitated.  “Recruiting Jamison and Mako was… tentative.  Honestly part of it was just to get them off of the streets so that we didn’t ultimately have to deal with them anyway.  Winston’s idea, turning a potential enemy into a friend.  It worked out pretty well, I think.”  There was a smile on her face, a genuine and bright thing that painted the tone of her voice as well, a note of pride in it. 

“Jamison said that so long as we have something they want things should go smoothly.”

Lena’s smile died off to leave her with a faint, thoughtful frown.  “That’s the thing.  For one, we haven’t been able to figure out what they _do_ want.  I’m not even sure how much they want their bounty hunter friend back.  And even with Mako and Jamison it was a hard sell, even if we were giving them a _very_ good deal.  I don’t think they trust authority much, Junkers.”

“You are concerned they won’t cooperate.”

“Not just that.”  Lena shifted, suddenly uneasy and clearly trying to choose her words carefully.  “If they’re anything like Jamison… no offense to him, but he can be a bit erratic.  He’s better, now.”  The addition hasty but seemed heartfelt.  “Much better, actually.  But that took time to develop.  We don’t have that kind of rapport with the Junkers here.  One of the reasons we really wanted to have Jamison and Mako along.  They have a better understanding of how things work here.”

“I see.”

Lena took a deep breath and released it as a brisk, deep sigh as if the words themselves had exhausted her.  “I know it’s silly.  It’s just a feeling I have.”

It was hard, looking at her and not being able to find the words to say.  Satya’s brow furrowed with concern as she took in Lena’s face and she hesitated before leaning back and, despite all of the dirt, settling next to her on the hood of the jalopy.  “Perhaps we should talk about other things.”

The other woman’s smile was worth it.  She wasn’t certain how, but it seemed she had managed to lift her spirits, although she supposed with Lena it shouldn’t have been a surprise.  “That sounds great.”

It was hard to find topics that had little chance of touching on sensitive subjects, and as a result they ended up talking mostly about the other members of the team.  Tracer talked about Winston’s habit of hiding jars of peanut butter in inconspicuous locations, Reinhardt’s not entirely secret love of pop music and terrible dancing, and Torbjörn’s surprising abilities in the kitchen (“He made the best muffins I have ever had.”).  They didn’t speak much about the Junkers and she felt almost as though Lena was avoiding the topic on her behalf, an idea that made her suspicious.  But it was pleasant enough, save for the fact that Lena was clearly uneasy, casting repeated glances toward the direction Winston and the others had disappeared to, and occasionally seemed to have difficulty keeping her mind on the conversation.  She broke it eventually, though it was clear she tried to do so as politely as possible.

“Do you mind if I skip off?  I’d like to check in on Winston and the others.”  There was a nervousness to her despite the characteristic, positive bounce in her tone.  “I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

It _had_ been longer than expected.  Once Lena brought her attention to it Satya realized she felt the unease as well.

She wanted to say it wasn’t the plan, but she had the feeling Junkertown didn’t much care for plans.  It was all the more reason to try to stick to them.  But she could justify it, and the urgency in Lena’s tone pulled at her and swayed her sense of caution. She was capable, at any rate, of watching over a vehicle—she could perform her function without issue, she was certain.  Lena’s absence would not be an issue.  So she swallowed her hesitation with surprising ease and nodded with a careful, faint smile. 

“Of course.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I’ll be fine.  I’ll still have you on the comms and Mercy and Reinhardt are close.”

Lena’s smile was a relieved little thing that seemed a bit haunted nonetheless.  “Thanks, love.  See you soon!”

She was gone in an instant, zipping between the bodies of Junkers where the space allowed her to, and Satya watched her go with a slow fading of her own encouraging smile.  Something about it felt wrong.  Regardless, it wouldn’t do to leave the others in the dark, and she lifted her hand to her ear, pressing against it gently to activate the comm device.  Winston and the others were likely busy, potentially navigating something delicate, and so she stopped short of trying to get their attention, focusing on the others instead.

“Mercy?  Reinhardt?”

Angela’s voice came back to her almost immediately, smooth and soothing in her ear.  “Symmetra.  What is it?”

“Tracer has gone ahead to join up with the others.  I believe she was concerned with how long it’s taking.”

“Do you need backup?”

“No…”  She faltered with the response, her eyes lifting to sweep over her immediate vicinity as though it might offer her something alarming, but it was relatively quiet, Junkers going about their business in what seemed to be their normal patterns, the occasional glance to her not seeming to be anything concerning.  “I do not believe so.”

“Alright.  We’ll keep an eye on your position.”

“Have you heard anything from Winston and the others?”  She knew it was a silly thing to ask—she would have heard any communication on her own device— but she did so anyway, hoping to make a small dent, at least, in her anxiety.  Angela may have understood the significance.  She answered with a lilt in her voice, something comforting underneath the efficient tone of it.

“Unfortunately not.  We’re monitoring the situation as best we can, however.”

“Alright.  Symmetra out.”

“Roger.”

She pressed the button at her ear once again with a soft sigh and settled in, crossing her arms gently over her chest.  It was hard not to feel alone in the wake of it despite Angela’s assurances, and with her attention back on her surroundings she observed things more closely.  The way certain groups of Junkers clung together, defined often by their clothes—people in ragged outfits staying with their own and not mingling closely with the armored Junkers—the occasional covert glance toward her or toward the transport ship, the way she thought she noticed some of them eyeing the logo Jamison had painted on the side of it closely, not certain if it bode well or poorly.

She felt the stares more powerfully in Lena’s absence and supposed it was to be expected given her uniform, given the fact that she was suddenly alone, but it made her uneasy all the same.  And she wasn’t terribly enthused to be left with her own thoughts, not after what felt like a miserably failed conversation with Jamison and the tense meeting with Thompson and the other woman and the shock of being in the place no matter how well she had tried to prepare herself.  It was almost a relief when a child appeared shyly within her view.  Satya recognized her.  It was the little girl whose hair Jamison had ruffled, standing a short distance away and looking at her in a way that seemed expectant, a thin white stick jutting out from between her lips.  A sucker.  The ill-gotten gains from Jamison’s pouch.  She hadn’t been one to steal it.  Satya could only assume the child who had had shared, and the thought brought on a conflicting mix of amusement and disappointment.  The instinct to admonish her was pushed to the side carefully and uncertainly and she hesitated on it for a moment, surprised that she had managed to subdue the urge at all.  But there was no harm done after all, and the thought came to her that perhaps she didn’t have the right to judge.  It was a strange thought.  It made her feel slightly off-balance.

She shook it off as best she could and stepped forwards unthinkingly into the open area with the jalopy at her back and approached the child cautiously, as if she were a wild animal, as if concerned she might run, but she stood where she was, watching Satya closely, a small arm wrapped carefully across her chest in a pose that made her look as uncertain as Satya felt.

“Hello.”  The greeting felt awkward on her lips but Satya took a breath and lowered her eyes to her hands, beginning to spin a shape out of hard-light both as a meditation and distraction for both herself and the child.  She immediately felt better, more at peace, and it soothed her nerves as the child responded.

“’ello.”  It was a sweet voice, a soft voice tinged with that strange drawl, and Satya raised her eyes from the construct to view the her more carefully.  She was watching closely as Satya weaved, her features wide and astonished and her fingers locked around the stick of the sucker held stubbornly in her mouth.  Her eyes were a vibrant green and her hair was a light blonde, in patches, much like Jamison’s had been when Satya first met him.  She frowned but shook the expression off, opting to look back to her construct instead, and her voice was soft and careful when she found it.

“Would you like me to make something for you?”

“Make somethin’?”

“Yes.”

The child watched her with a look of suspicion but it seemed like curiosity was winning out as she stepped slowly forward, letting go of the stick in her mouth in favor of relaxing small hands at her sides.  “Like what?”

“Whatever you like.”  As a demonstration Satya bent the light between her fingers with a gentle flourish and brought it to life, a small lotus flower, gently reflecting the light in a vibrant hue of blue.  The child’s eyes widened as Satya held it out for her to take, bending down to do so.  She ignored the drag of the fabric of her uniform in the dirt as best she could as she crouched so that she was at the same height as her, offering a faint smile as the child took the shape and turned it over in her hands with still-widened eyes.

“What about parts?”

Satya tipped her head to the side with an eyebrow lofted in confusion.  “… parts?”

The child nodded.  “Nuts ‘n bolts.  Wrenches.  Stuff like that.”  The request was so serious, so lacking in what she would expect from a child.  It tugged at uncomfortable memories and Satya lowered her eyes as she replied with a gentle ‘ah’ of understanding.

“I would need an example to work off of to be certain the dimensions were correct…”  A millimeter of difference might make a tool or part useless, and Satya’s eyes searched over the child with a slowly-growing frown.  It was clear that the child had no such thing.  Disappointment showed on both of their faces.  She was kind about it though, and Satya was grateful for it.

“The flower is nice.”

A quiet laugh escaped her despite the feeling of inadequacy that had begun to creep into her, an unfamiliar feeling that seemed as if it could be dangerous if she let it grow too large.  “Thank you.”  She had never been terribly good at small talk, but she had the child’s attention and wasn’t willing to lose it quite yet, so she gathered together what she could.  “What is your name?”

“Ava.”

“Do you have any family, Ava?”  Satya had lifted her hands, still crouched, her fingers weaving again to fill the gaps and distract herself just enough that the words came more easily, the split in concentration serving to soothe the less pleasant thoughts that threatened to creep into her consciousness.

“A brother.”  There was no mention of parents.  Satya attempted to keep the frown off of her features.

“Older?”  She could see Ava nod in her peripheral vision and lifted her eyes to look at her more closely as disapproval pricked at the back of her mind.  “And where is he?”

“The underground.”  A small finger pointed toward the horizon, a tall metal structure, bare bones of steel rising high above the ramshackle houses in the distance.  Satya didn’t understand, and she supposed the child recognized it on her face as she went on to elaborate.  “Where the water is.”

It was impossible to avoid it; Satya’s lips turned down at their corners as she looked away from the shape she was forming to the child’s face.

What good were little shapes to a child in these conditions, where children worked underground to secure water?  Where such basic needs went unfulfilled?  It was worse than her childhood home, worse than simply begging for scraps, scraping through, going hungry.  What good were her talents, ultimately, in a place like this?  Fixing the problems would require thousands upon thousands of hours of manpower, if it were even possible.  The conversation with Jamison came back to her abruptly and she felt a bitterness with it that seemed ridiculous somehow, as if she didn’t have the right to feel it.  Hopelessness had begun to settle in her stomach, mixing with the myriad other emotions there, none of them good.  She tried determinedly not to let the feeling get to her.

“I see.”  She took a deep breath helped as her eyes roved over Ava, taking in the ragged clothes, the dirt on her face.  “Do you at least have a place to live?”  The child nodded once again so she continued, the shape disappearing from existence with a silent spiral of light as she released it in favor of focusing her attention on the child entirely.  “And food?  And water?”

There was no nod and Ava stayed silent, simply looking up to her with wide, green eyes.  She suddenly wished she had something—anything—to give her, that she had thought ahead like Jamison had, but she of course had no idea of knowing what the living conditions would be like.  Or she would have perhaps, if she would have given it further thought.  The temptation to give her the pills in her pocket was strong but her mind quickly considered and discarded the thought.  It would be pointless.  What good would it do, in another two or three hours when the child ran out?  She thought better of it.  It didn’t soothe her conscience at all.

She started to turn with the thought that there might be something in the jalopy, some food or water, but she felt a pull on her prosthetic arm and turned back towards it, looking at Ava curiously.  The girl reached into her pocket and placed something firmly into her palm—a spiral of metal, a thin, small spring—a trade, she realized, for the lotus flower.  One from Jamison’s pouch no doubt.  A better trade than she deserved, perhaps.  The gratefulness in her voice was entirely genuine.

“Thank you.”

The child gave another nod as she turned to walk away and Satya watched her go with a quiet sigh, standing.  It took her a long moment until she felt comfortable retreating back to the jalopy to be alone with her own thoughts.

Perhaps Jamison was right, or had been at least when he had said her assessment wasn’t fair.  A voice in her ear took her from the thought.  It was Winston’s, deep and familiar.

“Attention, Overwatch.”

There was something in the tone.  She had difficulty deciphering it, but it brought the uneasiness back to her, welling up from the pit of her stomach.  The voices continued, each member checking in in sequence.

“Mercy on call.” 

“Reinhardt at ready.”

“Tracer, here.  Watching your six.”

She brought her hand to her ear and pressed gently, listening carefully as she spoke in a calm, clipped tone.  “Symmetra online.” 

Winston spoke again and she finally put her finger on it: urgency, subtle but there.  It demanded her full attention and she took a deep breath to stave off the jump in her pulse.  “Change of plans.”

They were dreaded words as it was but they felt even moreso in the setting and the comms remained silent as the team waited for him to continue.  They didn’t have to wait long.  The words were blunt and took her feet out from under her.

“They want us to fight for the information.”

Lena’s voice chased after the words quickly, nearly cutting him off.  “ _Fight_ for it?”

Angela sounded uncertain as she cut in, her hesitance clear.  “Winston—”

“Don’t worry, it’s a simple duel.” 

She recognized it for what it was—an attempt to calm any doubts they might have—but it didn’t have the desired effect.  Her heart skipped a beat.  It wasn’t helped by the sudden interjection of Jamison’s voice, loud and high-pitched over the comms.

“To the death, mate!”  A giggle followed the statement and she couldn’t determine the exact tenor of it.  He sounded excitable.  It didn’t tell her if it was good or not.

“It won’t come to that.”

The conversation was interrupted by a sudden sound, a loud, sustained tone that struck out through the air, the sound of a horn reverberating over the rusted structures.  She lifted her head.  Junkers around her were doing the same and she could see the excitement already building in some of them, lighting the faces of the ones who looked rougher, the people in armor, a slowly-growing sound of voices raised in conversation and a movement of bodies towards the direction Winston, Jamison, Roadhog, and Lena had disappeared in. 

It struck her immediately and distinctively: it was nothing good, and her arms uncurled from her chest as she stood straight with slowly-widening eyes, forcing her breath slower to calm herself.

Voices were coming over the comms in rapid succession and louder tones and she watched as the child she had noted in the trunk of a car earlier reached up hurriedly to grab a leather strap, pulling the lid abruptly closed behind them.  It pulled at her attention and she noticed doors closing, metal barriers pulled over open spaces, some of the more raggedly-clothed people suddenly beginning to disappear from view.

Her voice raised as her hand moved to her ear once again to help her focus and she kept it even, willing the building nervousness out of it.  “I’m not certain this is a good idea.”

She wasn’t sure if it was even heard over the growing commotion, both on the comms and off.

She could hear a familiar laughter pitching out of control before Jamison’s voice came through faintly, as though he’d forgotten to use his communicator and it was all coming through on Winston’s instead.

“You’re in over your bloody head.”

Winston’s voice was patient and calculated as he responded.  “Junkrat.  We can handle this.”

“There ain’t no ‘handlin’’ it mate, it’s a bloody death trap.”

“Just stay calm.  No one is going to die.”

He was laughing again, a wavering sound that seemed terse, and it was cut off as Jamison suddenly took hold of his own voice and regained control of it, the tenor of it high and anxious.  “Well _someone’s_ dyin’ down ‘ereand it ain’t gonna be me!”

“ _No one_ —”

There was no opportunity for Winston to finish the sentence.  A sudden, loud boom jarred her as an explosion wracked a structure in the distance, the sound reverberating against the scattered buildings and a large plume of smoke and dust immediately drifting up into the sky from the same direction.  She could feel it in her feet and it instilled an instant sense of panic in her that she had to force back down her throat.  Jamison was there.  And Roadhog, and Winston, and Lena.  For a moment nothing was coming in over the comms. 

She barely had time to breathe before the sound of yelling voices raised up and without thinking she moved forward, darting through the crowd towards the source of it, toward the arena, but the flow of people was moving in the other direction and she found herself briefly lost in it, forced to a stop as bodies pushed roughly against her in their haste to get around her.  Her feet moved back a step or two and she worked to calm her breath as she debated the merits of holding her ground or attempting to move forward and she heard him before she saw him, a high-pitched laugh piercing the growing sounds of chaos that had started to well up behind it, the thud of feet nearly drowning it out.  Two familiar shapes came into view over the heads of the crowd, one large and round and the other bouncing, a face appearing intermittently that she immediately recognized.  Jamison and Roadhog were enveloped in the scattered sea of Junkers and she narrowed her eyes in concentration as she pushed forward, attempting to move toward them.  She didn’t have to struggle for very long.

Roadhog’s mask turned toward her and she could see his large hand come down atop Jamison’s head and turn it forcibly in her direction.  The lanky Junker’s features lit, eyes wide and vibrant as he lifted a hand to wave for her attention and the two of them immediately began pushing roughly through the crowd and there were no words before she was suddenly in front of them and the pair of them stopped in their tracks.  Jamison was out of breath but smiling, a fire in him. 

“’Bout time we get movin’, love.  Negotiations fell through.”  She could see the undercurrents in it easily, in the tone of his voice and the way his movements seemed more like full-body twitches, his eyes darting to the sides and the strained grin on his face.  It struck her as frantic.  Manic.  It was less than comforting.  The ends of his hair were gently singed and he seemed not to have noticed as he went on without so much as a pause.  “That gorilla thinks I’m goin’ to the arenas, he’s crackers.  I’ll have meself a fight out here, thank you very much.”

“Symmetra?  Come in.”  Angela’s voice interrupted them as she finally came through on the comm system and Satya’s shoulders dropped as she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I’m here.  Where are Winston and Tracer?”

“Accounted for…”  The woman’s voice sounded uncertain, like she was trying to find the words before she went on.  “Things might get a little complicated.”

Roadhog’s voice rumbled out from under his mask, difficult to hear over the other sounds demanding her attention.  “We should move.”

She turned toward Jamison, her eyes gently narrowing as she did so.  “Did _you_ —”

But was interrupted by his hand suddenly in hers, his fingers clasped firmly around her leaving trails of soot in their wake as he tugged on her gently.

“No time to talk fault!  Some of ‘em ain’t too happy.”  Even if it was an evasive maneuver he was right; she could see people looking at them in the mass of bodies flooding up behind them and Jamison had already started to move again, picking up speed with his uneven steps as he drifted past her and Roadhog looked at her pointedly, haste clear in his posture despite the impassivity of the mask.  She turned with the pull of Jamison’s hand and moved, following after him as the crowd parted under his insistent shoving against it until they were at the fringes.  The jalopy was in sight and the brunt of the chaos hadn’t reached them yet and she had the momentary thought that it would be as simple as jumping in the vehicle and leaving, but there was a sudden pull on the hem of the long fabric of her uniform in the opposite direction that brought her to a stop and she paused, looking down.  It was Ava.

“Not that one.”

She stood there, not understanding, feeling only the undercurrent of haste, but Jamison was beside her, looking at Ava and standing abruptly straight, his eyes widening with an understanding she had yet to grasp.  His tone was disbelieving.  Incredulous and full of a strange, numb sort of offense.  “You stole our bloody petrol.”

The child didn’t look remotely guilty but wasted no time in turning and pointing to a man standing beside a nearby vehicle, her eyes on Jamison in a way that offered an unspoken suggestion.  Jamison again seemed to follow her meaning effortlessly and released Satya’s hand abruptly to follow the pointing finger with an energetic bound, clearing the distance and enthusiastically bringing his hand down to clap loudly on the man’s bare shoulder blade, neatly avoiding the spikes adorning his body.

“Oi, mate, fancy seein’ you here!  It’s been ages!”

He barely had the words out before the man reared back, recoiling in surprise but then immediately regrouping and coming at Jamison with a closed fist swung hard with the clear intent of nailing him in the jaw.  She had the time to watch Jamison’s expression switch to shock before he ducked, narrowly missing the punch, and pulled away in one smooth motion with his hands raised defensively, apologetically, slinking behind Roadhog with a cowed grin to match.

“Sorry cobber, thought you were someone else.  Honest mistake.”  Jamison remained tucked behind Roadhog as the large Junker crossed his arms slowly over his chest and the other man stared at him for a terse moment before he turned, backing off with an irritated growl, putting some distance between them, seemingly disinterested in any further altercation.

Frustration and worry were building an impatience in her and she spoke through gritted teeth to keep her voice quiet and as measured as possible as she slipped closer, addressing Jamison in a low tone.  “What was the point of that?”

He grinned broadly at her and stood up straight with a flourish, spinning a pair of keys on his fingers.  “Deflection, love.  Shall we?”

She was left staring numbly as Roadhog’s voice rumbled in, somehow still audible over the rapidly growing din that was gnawing a hole in her composure.  “You don’t know how to drive.”

“I know how it works.”  Jamison shoved the larger man aside as he hopped into the open cab of the vehicle and jammed the key in the ignition, motioning hurriedly to Satya to get in as the engine rumbled and started.  She could see other Junkers looking at them as she chanced a look over her shoulder and she quickly found her place in the backseat, her hands finding the head rest in front of her and grasping onto it tightly as the vehicle sank slightly under Roadhog’s weight and Jamison shifted it into gear.

His foot pressed down on the clutch and his peg leg hit the accelerator in one awkward motion.  The car jolted forward and the engine abruptly died.  There was a moment where they all sat in a shocked silence, her hands gripping the cushioning tighter before Jamison spoke, still staring down at his feet.

“… fuck.”

Jamison cast a look over his shoulder and she followed suit to see the same Junker he had stolen the keys from moving back toward them.  He was not alone; a group of people had swept up behind him, all of their eyes focused on them.  Jamison scrambled to switch seats with Roadhog. 

“A’right, a’right, you drive!”  

After an awkward shuffle they had repositioned, Jamison briefly upside-down, his face on the floor of the car and his feet in the air before he righted himself and turned his attention immediately back toward the approaching group of Junkers.  “Time to get goin’, mate!”

The engine wheezed and started again and she gritted her teeth over the words, the worry showing in the crease that had formed on her brow.  “What about Lena and Winston?  Reinhardt and Angela?”

A loud roar greeted her question and she turned her head instinctively toward the source to see a body flying through the air, the scream of it briefly attracting the attention of the other Junkers as well, the large silhouette of a gorilla spotting out the sun as he leapt overhead.

Jamison yelled a response over the sound of the engine.  “I’m thinkin’ they’ll be alright.  Get a move on, Hog!”

The vehicle lurched forward with a spray of dirt in its wake and she held on, ducking her head.  Before she could think much on it they were leaving the group of Junkers in the dust and she raised a hand to her ear and tried the comm system again, working on catching her breath.

“Tracer!  Update?”

There was nothing.  Winston was clearly indisposed, but Lena seemed like more of a concern given the crowd.  She wasn’t certain how well the woman could move between a thick mass of bodies.  She heard Angela’s voice again instead.

“Symmetra.  Reinhardt and I are in the transport ship.  Winston and Tracer still on the ground but in our sights.  We’ve taken off but we’ll stay with them.  I don’t think we’ll have any trouble keeping in touch with them.  Are you alright?  Where are Junkrat and Roadhog?”

“With me.”

The engine roared more loudly as Roadhog switched gears and it pitched forward once again as the vehicle gained speed.  She looked ahead of them and thought better of it as Roadhog steered through the uneven patches of buildings at growing speed, the thin streets thankfully empty, as though the residents had all known to retreat somewhere safe. 

“Stay with them and get out of the city if you can.  Things are getting a _bit_ chaotic.  I think it’s best you evacuate for now.”

“Understood.”

She turned her body to look behind them but it was no more comforting.  Despite the distance they were putting between them she could see groups of Junkers hopping into cars, black exhaust puffing into the air, and she could only assume they had every intent of chasing them down.  The unhelpful thought came to her that she supposed she couldn’t blame them.  They had stolen a _car_.  But that situation wouldn’t be made any better by sympathetic thoughts and so she let go of the seat to tap Jamison’s shoulder, leaning forward to speak above the sound of the engine.  “We’re going to have followers.”

Jamison stood up in his seat and looked backwards, his goggles already down over his eyes and his features briefly drawn into something thin and serious but a grin spread rapidly curled his lips upwards as his prosthetic hand gripped hard on the back of the seat, his teeth gritted in something that seemed like it was born out of excitement.

“No worries!  There ain’t that many.”

There was a pause in the slightly frenzied look as he reached down to the satchel at his side and abruptly pulled out a bandanna, handing it to her in silence, the sound of the engine and the wind around them rapidly becoming too loud as the buildings whipped past them.  He pantomimed tying it across his face and she stared down at it a moment, finding it to look relatively clean, and complied, breathing a bit harder with the fabric pressing against her skin.  It felt claustrophobic but she could see the dust in the air and was grateful for it.  She suddenly had a deep appreciation for her visor.

They were reaching the end of the shanties, the shadow of the Omnium looming over them in the distance, and Jamison bent to the side to speak in Roadhog’s ear but she heard it all the same.

“Roadie, that’s the Omnium.”

The larger Junker offered a questioning tilt of his head and if he said anything it was inaudible.  Jamison continued.

“Turn around mate, go the other way.”

She heard the rumble of Roadhog’s voice, then but couldn’t quite make it out and so she focused on Jamison’s instead as he went on.

“I’ll take care of ‘em.  Just do it.”

She held tight as Roadhog hit the shifter and the brake, whipping the vehicle around to the opposite direction before slamming on the accelerator again, and the pursuing cars whizzed past them by a narrow margin before attempting to do the same and failing, the both of them sliding to a slow stop before she heard the sound of their engines kicking up again with a shoot of exhaust out of their back ends as they completed the turn tentatively and started toward them again at a slower pace.  They had put significant distance between them and Satya couldn’t help but be impressed.  Roadhog was proving to be very skilled at maneuvering a vehicle, and peg leg aside she was no longer wondering why Jamison didn’t drive.

There seemed little reason to give the retreating forms of the vehicles much further thought—they might yet have lost them entirely as they moved back through Junkertown—so she turned her attention forward instead.  They were nearly to the spot they had stolen their car in the first place and Roadhog suddenly hit the brakes, slowing without stopping as the collected mass of people scattered in front of their car.  It was enough time for her to see two additional vehicles with tattooed and armored men and women loading into them.  Strangely, she saw the form of a child emerge from underneath the vehicle on the left and quickly disappear into the crowd, something undefined in her hand and—Satya could swear by it—the white stick of a sucker in her mouth.  Even as they regained speed she could hear the engine of the dark car turn over, a stunted, uneven whirr that caught and roared to life a moment later all the same and she could taste the bitterness in her mouth as the hope that perhaps it might not start died in her throat.

The jeep on the right burst out a sudden cloud of black smoke as it started successfully as well and she watched with horror as tattooed Junkers loaded into the car and it jerked immediately forward with some still hanging off of the side, whooping loudly as the tires dug into the ground and propelled it forward, fast.

It looked as though they might have four cars to deal with.  She found herself wondering why Jamison had insisted they not go the other direction.

It wasn’t much longer before Satya, Roadhog, and Junkrat cleared the ramshackle buildings for a second time and the open desert sprawled out in front of them, a blank red canvas against a bleached, white sky.

A thought struck her.  She had no idea where they were going and, really, not a fantastic sense of where they were in relation to anything that mattered—the drop ship.  It made her heart skip and she looked back with the intent of orienting herself, but the haphazard shape of Junkertown was already beginning to shrink in on itself as they tore out into the desert, the ruined Omnium faded against the sky behind it.  Plumes of smoke coiled lazily upwards towards the sky above the town, ones she was certain hadn’t been there when they had first arrived.  For a moment she thought perhaps their flight had kicked some unknown mechanisms woke up, some great slumbering machine under the wastes, but a spray of debris in the air above the city followed quickly by another brought the realization that it was likely just the chaos following Jamison’s explosion and Winston’s primal rage.

The two vehicles following after soon pulled her out of her distraction, though, the both of them seeming to be gaining on them quickly.  Jamison was watching them as well and had scrambled into the back seat with her behind Roadhog, pushing against the seat so that he sat tall in it on his knees, an entirely different expression on his face.  His lips were pulled back in a wide, exuberant grin, his hair whipping wildly in the wind, and a laugh bubbled out of his throat as he pulled the frag launcher from his shoulder and sent a volley of grenades behind them, each one of them flying through the air in a promising arc before their targets swerved to avoid them and they fell instead on the dirt, exploding harmlessly as the vehicles left them in the dust.  There was a brisk look of displeasure on his face as he turned his head to swat Roadhog on the shoulder with a yell. 

“We got trouble, Roadie!”

She was surprised that she could hear Roadhog’s voice as he replied over the sound of the engine and the air rushing around them.  “No shit.”

Jamison suddenly laughed again, a full-bodied thing that shook his shoulders and forced his eyes closed for a moment before he collected himself and looked down at her, still with that wide, sharp-toothed grin.

“Can we get some shields, love?  Big ones, real strong.  The whole car if you can.”

There was no point in words.  She sat up higher instead, looking over the shape of the vehicle before bringing herself to her feet until she was partially standing and taking a deep breath, quickly weaving a shield around them, a thin but resilient bubble that enveloped the entirety of the machine and themselves, ending at the bumpers and going no lower.  The moving parts that were out of her vision were simply too difficult to shield and she found herself hoping that what she had created would be adequate.  Jamison, at least, seemed thrilled with it and lifted a hand up high to put his palm flat against the surface and she thought, for a moment, that she saw admiration on his face.  It was difficult not to feel a rush of satisfaction as she watched him, looking away quickly as their car jerked forward, the jeep behind them suddenly connecting to their car at the bumper as they crashed into one-another.  It was brief and not too forceful and the jeep behind backed off before jumping forward again as the Junkers behind them hit the gas to ram them once more.

The dark vehicle that she had seen the child under took a place beside them a moment later, just slightly behind them.  It swerved toward them as well but came nowhere near close, seeming as if the goal had been more to force them off-path than anything else.  Roadhog made a few quick maneuvers but both of the other vehicles followed suit, staying close, not at all shaken, and she cursed quietly under her breath.

She began to wonder if the robust shields were even necessary—they hadn’t been built without the cost of tiring her.  The jeep behind them seemed intent on ramming them, which the shields did nothing against.  The dark car gaining distance beside them seemed harmless, except for the same option of running into them, but it seemed easy enough to simply out-maneuver each swipe from it with Roadhog’s skills.  She didn’t fully understand the use of it until the dark car began pulling forward ahead of them and she saw the large gun mounted on rear of it.

Their engine strained to accelerate but they had seemingly reached their maximum speed and the multiple-barreled gun on the back of the other vehicle pointed toward them slowly as it pulled up directly beside them.  She stared down the muzzle of it with widening eyes and held her breath as it shuddered as if by its own volition and sent a sudden spray of bullets directly toward herself and Jamison where they sat in the backseat but the shield held and still looked strong, the light catching it a bit more obviously at the force of the impacts.  She could see the Junkers in the other car, the brief confusion on their faces before they began wild gestures, one of them waving to gain the driver’s attention before leaning in to yell something into his ear.

The jeep behind them rammed into their bumper once again as the engine of the dark car let out a deafening roar and a cloud of dark exhaust.  It shot forward ahead of them and a moment later and pulled in front of them with the obvious intent of trying a different angle and another hail of bullets struck the shields, bouncing off harmlessly once again.  But the Junkers seemed to have no intent of giving up.  She watched as they quickly connected another long belt of bullets to the gun and felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

They were pinned in between the two vehicles, one in front and one in back, and it had become clear that they were not going to be able to shake the vehicles by maneuvering alone.  With each spray of bullets she could feel the hard-light shield getting dangerously weak, large cracks developing in circular spiderwebs where the projectiles had hit and the light _ping_ that usually accompanied the shield being struck quickly sounding more like a patter of small, dull thuds.  Something absolutely had to be done, and quickly, and it seemed as though Jamison had reached the same conclusion as he craned his neck upward to look between the two vehicles, a thoughtful furrow on his brow.  She grabbed his harness to pull him closer so she could speak and he grunted from the surprise of it, turning his eyes to her from behind the goggles.

“The tire?”

The meaning of the question was clear and he pursed his lips together as his hand came to the harness as well, considering it, but he eyed the jeep behind them again and made a brief calculation before shaking his head and yelling back.  “Either won’t make the jump or it’ll blow us up.  Might tear up the underside, though, or toss a few of ‘em off.  Worth a try.” 

Too far would be useless and too close might be disastrous, she supposed, and while he had already unclipped the tire from his back the chance of it blowing them up was not exactly ideal.

Another hail of bullets thudded across the shield and she took a deep breath, releasing it quickly, and her mind grasped suddenly onto an idea.  Jamison’s hands were already on the tire, dropping it on the back of their car with a thud of its own and she reached out, gripping his wrist, having to sit up farther in the seat to do so.  The wind was nearly deafening even behind the shield but she called out over it, her voice straining to make him hear.

“No tire.  I’m going to need you to trust me.”

Jamison’s brow furrowed over the goggles as his attention snapped to her, confusion clear on his face as he raised his voice as well, perhaps not having heard her.  “What?”

She pulled the bandanna down to expose her face with a haste born more of irritation with it than anything else, feeling as though she wouldn’t be heard otherwise. The dust was the least of their problems, at any rate. 

 “I have an idea!”

His fingers had clenched hard over the tire, his knuckles white, and she could see the tension in his jaw as he shifted his eyes from the car in front to the jeep behind.  “Yeah, a’right, whatever you want!”  She turned her attention to Roadhog.

“Roadhog?”

The large man tipped his head back in a way that she assumed meant he was listening and she leaned forward, hoping it might make the words more likely to be heard.

“Ignore the car in front of us, if you can.  When I say, brake as hard as you can and try to keep it straight.”

The man lifted a large hand upward in a simple thumbs-up, no hesitation and no further clarification needed as he lowered his head once again.

“Jamie?”

Jamison had hauled the tire back into the car and shoved it downward, jamming it onto the floor, wedging it between the front and back seat where it joined the frag launcher just in time to turn his attention back to her.  “Yeah, what!”

“I’ll need you to help me keep my balance.”

“You got it, love!”

Satya pulled herself upward out of the seat and pressed her hands against the metal behind it, pushing herself onto the smooth surface a bit unevenly but unreserved all the same.  She drew herself to her feet and stepped forward and felt Jamison’s hands wrapped around her ankles, a steadying force as she found her stance on the trunk of the car.  She took a deep, grounding breath, her hands brought to her chest, her eyes narrowed in concentration.  She needed the moment to pull her thoughts together and she released the air to clear her mind fully, pleased to feel the calm as it seeped into her, soothed the adrenaline in her, allowed her to focus fully despite the sound of the wind whipping past her and the uneven jolts as they plowed over rough ground.  Her eyes quickly searched the jeep behind them and took in what she needed.  She ignored the forms of the Junkers inside vehicle entirely and looked instead at the height of it, the distance between the wheels, the way it darted forward before retreating in an uneven but existing pattern.

It seemed predictable enough.  It seemed like it could work.  All she had to do was wait for the proper moment.

It may have been her presence standing in front of them but the Junkers backed off slightly, the jeep flagging before she heard the engine shift and strain again to send the it jolting forward and she moved quickly, her body whipping to the side as she wove a slightly curved plane of hard-light and then another, building consecutive layers that quickly became two thick, curving sheets connected to the back of her vehicle, the ends of each just barely scraping the ground as it whipped past.  The Junkers behind them had no chance to see it being as close as they were.  It felt solid, two gently curving ramps, one on front of each of the jeep’s tires, and her mind went effortlessly blank as the Junkers’ bumper attempted to connect with their own.  It was the proper moment.  Her voice strained as she forced it out over all of the other sounds, briefly loud enough to be perfectly audible.

“Brake!”

There was no hesitation.  Roadhog slammed his foot down on the brake and their car immediately responded, the wheels locking, his grip tightening on the wheel as he fought to keep their trajectory.  The vehicle behind them had no time to prepare for it and the tires connected with the ramp.  It was sudden.  Their car jerked forward from the force of it.

She could feel the hard light around her cracking and gritted her teeth as the shield around them abruptly shattered, her body coiling forward and her arms straining to keep the two structures under the wheels of the jeep within reach, reinforcing the ramps as the tires of the other vehicle rammed into them and pitched upward with an uneven jump and suddenly the bumper of the jeep was moving toward her at far too rapid of a pace.

Jamison was abruptly there, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her back towards himself with a twist of his body that brought the both of them falling haphazardly back into the backseat of the vehicle, hers bouncing against the cushions and his own falling on top of her, a metal arm pressed against the floor to keep the majority of his weight off, narrowly avoiding the spikes of the rip-tire.

The position gave her a full view of it; the world went eerily quiet as the other vehicle reared up over them and went airborne, the straining engines both falling to a gentle idle as brakes locked in a desperate attempt to stop their forward motion. 

Of course, for the jeep above them it was far too late.

It was interesting, to see the workings of a car as it flew overhead.  It felt something like slow motion.  She had never really seen a car in great detail, not one with wheels, not one that was so exposed underneath.  Their own vehicle stuttered as it continued to try to slow itself and it wasn’t long before the jeep in the air cleared their front bumper, still a significant distance from the ground.

She pulled herself up on her elbows to watch and Jamison did the same, pressing hard against the seat with his hand, his neck craning forward.

The dark car in front of them with the gun mounted on its back had neither stopped nor even slowed.  Brake lights lit, a surprising enough fact on its own, but it seemed to do nothing to drop its speed and the vehicle in the air was bearing down on it rapidly, Junkers still holding to the support beams in some futile hope that they might land safely.

The car in the front made a quick, last minute effort to swerve but the hard turn of the wheel caused their tires to cut in the soft ground and served, instead, to turn the car most of the way around where it stood, slowing it dramatically and putting it into the worst possible position for the Junkers clinging to the side of it.  There was enough time for them to lift their heads and Satya could hear scattered yells before they began to disappear from sight one by one behind a mass of metal and tires and then it was all drowned out by the sound of shrieking metal as the jeep came down directly on top of the car on the ground.  It shrank both of the vehicles to an impossibly small mass almost too fast for her to blink as each of the machines collapsed in on themselves under the force of the impact, Junkers and all.

They came to a slow, stumbling stop some distance away with Roadhog’s foot still pressed hard on the brake and the engine sat idling, all three of them staring straight ahead at the mangled collection of metal, perfectly still as if time had stopped, the moment holding them captive until Jamison spoke with a voice full of quiet wonder, not so much a question as a dazed statement of disbelief. 

“… did that just happen?”

A small flame appeared, licking along what may have been the side of one of the vehicles, and they watched in absolute silence as it spread idly upward before finding fuel and igniting violently, an explosion blasting out of the top of the rubble sending up a plume of dark black smoke and debris, some of it clinking harmlessly against the hood of their car before the fire grudgingly retreated, still burning slowly but smaller, tiny scraps of metal and rubber pocking the dirt around them.

Jamison slowly turned his head to look down at her with eyes that were drawn comically wide, a moonish look, and she could see the front of Roadhog’s mask over the edge of the seat as he turned and did the same.  She was breathless from the adrenaline and her gaze shifted between the two of them before she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile at the success.  She hadn’t planned for or expected the destruction of car that had been in front of them.  But it was hard not to revel in a result that far surpassed what she intended.

Jamison’s body was still on top of hers, his hand pressed against the floor to keep some of his weight off of her, seemingly having entirely forgotten the position.  His voice regained some strength as the shock began to wear off and he uttered a stunned murmur that was still a bit difficult to hear.

“You’d make an bloody amazing Junker.”  For a moment she too out of sorts to find the words to answer and his lips curled upward in a lopsided, apologetic grin and he offered an addition, more loudly.  “No offense.”

The chuckle that escaped her was impossible to contain, the compliment feeling her strangely warm  and she allowed her eyes to close for a moment before looking back up to him.  “None taken.”  It was a compromising position, being underneath him.  She held onto it for a moment too long before her hands found the belt at his waist and tugged it away from herself gently to prompt him to move.  He regained his senses with a blink and pulled himself away slowly to sit back, holding out a hand once he was up to offer her help.  She took it and pulled herself up as well and for a moment simply stared back at him, lost in it.

A rapidly-growing sound pulled them out of it and all three of them turned to look over their shoulders past the rear of the car to see a large plume of dust, dirt scattered in the air in the wake of two cars.  The two they had left behind in their dash back through Junkertown, she was sure—one of them covered in menacing spikes.

“Shit.”  The words were unnecessary but Jamison said them anyway, even as the engine rumbled more loudly as Roadhog pushed down on the gas.  “Looks like we got a couple more comin’.  Roadie—”

“I’m on it.”

Despite the way their car lurched forward their movement felt dismayingly slow compared to the vehicles behind, gaining on them.  A feeling of helplessness threatened to seep into her muscles but she pushed it away.  They had gotten rid of two vehicles.  They could handle two more.

As they grew closer she realized that some of the spikes on one of the cars weren’t spikes at all but harpoons, a fact that became all too clear as one of them flew from the vehicle toward them with a loud whoosh and a rattle of the chain anchoring it as it missed its mark and was reeled back where it came from slowly, being pulled in to reconnect so that it would be ready to be fired again. 

Another whistling sound drew her attention just before something flew over her, too close, and she raised her head with a surprised gasp of air, a shock of adrenaline spiking through her and sending her heart jumping as she looked for their source.  The car that had pulled up to them on the opposite side was filled with Junkers, more than one of them wielding something so primitive she had trouble recognizing it, and it only came to her after her mind frantically went over the few options of what it might be and settled on one: crossbows.

Jamison hadn’t failed to notice the darts that nearly struck them either and summed the scenario up succinctly: “Well, fuck.”

They would need shields again.  She could feel the exhaustion in her arms despite the insistent beat of her heart but she raised them anyway, flicking her wrists and covering Jamison and Roadhog in thin films of light that formed as a gentle, translucent view before fading into total invisibility.  Jamison’s attention had wavered, his hands on the frag launcher that he had plucked from the floor of the back seat to try again and his voice was punctuated by the _ka-thunk_ of grenades being launched toward the car the harpoon had come from, the _shuffle-clack_ of him reloading the magazine, his voice lifting upward in a tone of disbelief.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, is that Thompson?” 

She pulled herself up in the seat to look as well.  It was, indeed, Thompson, manning one of the harpoons, his face immediately recognizable and his expression deathly calm and dark.

She barely had the time to look back to Jamison when a sudden, sharp pain shot through her side, pulling a small cry from her from the surprise, and she looked down to see three new sharp bolts lodged in the car door and a red blotch expanding rapidly through the fabric of her uniform where one had shot through it.  It had narrowly missed lodging itself in her torso but the cut on her side was still a deep one and she pressed her hand over it without thinking, taking in a sharp, hissing breath that only served to exacerbate the pain.

In the chaos of everything and her exhaustion she had forgotten to shield herself.  It was stupid.  Careless.  When she looked up Jamison was staring at her wide-eyed and stock-still, unable to move until he abruptly fell to his knees, one on either side of her, his body shielding her own from anything else that might come as the frag launcher slipped off his shoulder and clattered to the floor.

She heard herself say the words without even being sure they were true.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“That ain’t a scratch.”  She thought she could detect an edge of desperation in his voice; he sounded suddenly shaken, but her mind shifted from him to the cut in her side as he pulled her hand away to look at it and the small, whining sound that came from him was far from encouraging.  It took him a moment further to gather himself before he looked up at her with alarmed eyes.  “Can ya make staples for it?  Like you did for me.”

She had treated his wounds clumsily in Numbani but she knew she could do the same for herself.  There was no other choice, after all.

She lowered her head in a silent nod and her hands found his own, pulling them to the torn fabric and pantomiming a ripping motion, and he obliged with a quiet grunt that split the tear much wider and made it easier to see the damage.  The cut was oozing blood and she closed her eyes tightly against the pain before looking back to him with a hard breath.  “Hold it closed for me?”

“Yeah.  I got it.  Just hang in there.”

Mechanical and organic fingers moved quickly, gingerly at first before realizing it would only slow the process, and he pinched the cut skin together with a brisk exhale of his own.  She bit the sound that came from her into her lip to stifle it and flicked her fingers, pinching her thumb and forefinger together, creating five thin staples in a row along the cut as Jamison gradually pinched it less tightly to allow them to sink into her skin, securing them.  It would have to do.  The process left her breathless but it was done quickly and as Jamison sat back to catch his own breath a loud crunch of metal reverberated through the metal at her back as a harpoon lodged itself in the front passenger door, a dangerously short distance away.  Jamison looked at it just as she heard the whistle of more bolts and a faint _clink clink clink_ as three of them connected with his back, bouncing off relatively harmlessly but still making him wince.  He didn’t move, though, and leaned back down over her to say something over the sound of the engines and the wind.

“Get some shields on ya and stay down.  I gotta take care ‘a somethin’.”

She nodded despite the weak feeling that had come over her and wove a quick shield around herself with a slow breath meant to be calming and keep from further agitating the wound in her side.  He had turned away and begun tugging at something behind the driver’s seat but it was obstructed from her view as he smacked Roadhog’s shoulder again to get his attention.

 “I’m goin’ in, Hog!  Take her over.  To the right.”

She could see the large man nod and their vehicle immediately pitched toward the car the bolts had come from, the metal of the door on the left straining against the pull of the harpoon.  And then Jamison was airborne, throwing himself forward in a somewhat clumsy jump that landed him on the side of the other car nonetheless, albeit clinging to the door and not having reached the open cab.  He had nothing so far as she could tell except the trap strapped to his back and the satchel at his side.

She held her breath and her pulse spiked as he struggled to make his way into the front seat of the car against the hands attempting to push him out but it was only a second before he was in, semi-secure.  It was chaos for a moment.  The other car pulled a short distance away and all she could see was swinging fists before a flash of metal flew over the back seat and an explosion followed a second later, a small one but still enough to send some of the Junkers collapsing back against the seat with screams of pain and Jamison took the opportunity to dislodge himself from grasping hands and scramble over windshield and onto the hood where he slid dangerously for a moment before latching onto a seam in the metal and reaching behind his back to remove the trap.

There was a brief moment of hesitation and as he considered the trajectory of it and then it was simply dropped, tossed a short distance in front of the vehicle, and there was a snap and the sound of shearing metal as it clamped down on the front tire and was immediately pulled into the underworks, shredding the wheel well as it clung insistently to the tire even as it deflated.  The trap was quickly ground to nothing but parts but the damage had been done and the car immediately started to slow and shifted to the side toward them.  Not close enough.  Jamison had disabled the vehicle but they were rapidly leaving him behind, still on the hood of the other car and watching them as the distance started to grow.

It shot pain up through her to do it but she sucked in a breath of air and called out as loudly as she could.  “Mako!”

Roadhog was already half-standing and she’d barely called his name before the hook darting from him and it was like Ilios, when he had plucked Jamison from the air, the hook flying just within reach for Jamison to latch onto it with his mechanical arm before he was pulled back roughly into the cab of their car.  He slammed directly into Roadhog’s body with enough force that she was surprised he didn’t simply bounce off.  But Roadhog continued to pull him toward himself in one smooth motion and shoved the lanky Junker into the driver’s seat as he shifted his own weight back, pulling away, himself.  It was difficult for her to see anything but the back of Jamison’s head and Roadhog towering over him as he stood in the passenger’s seat but she could hear the words that growled out of him and Jamison’s following after, pitched high with surprise.

“You’re driving.”

“ _What_?”

A large hand gestured to each part as Roadhog spoke and the hook was tucked neatly back at his side, the chain in order.  “Gas.  Brake.  Keep it straight.”  He paused to look toward the final car, the harpoons pointed towards them, and offered an amendment.  “ _Only_ gas.”

It was anxiety that prompted her to try to sit up straighter, a need to see _anything_ so that she wasn’t left completely in the dark, and when she raised herself with a wince she could see something nearing panic on Jamison’s face but he complied, his tongue sticking out from between clenched teeth and as the car gained speed a loud laugh came from him, suddenly manic and exuberant once again.  His face was bloodied, a trail of red under his nostrils, but he seemed not to have noticed.

Instead of pulling the harpoon out of the door Roadhog simply wrenched the entire thing off of its hinges and tossed it over the side like it required no effort at all.  His hand returned to the hook at his side and clenched over it before it flew toward the front seat of the other car.  The driver had no time to react as he was plucked expertly out and over the expanse of air between them, Roadhog letting the chain go slack so that the Junker fell to the ground between the cars and rolled off into the dirt behind them.  There was no hesitation as the large man threw the hook once again.  It latched onto the steering wheel of the other car, absent any driver, and when he pulled it back it brought it abruptly in their direction and the vehicle pitched to the side so that its bumper rammed into the side of their car, its wheels caught in the dirt, and it too upended and flipped. 

Their own car jerked with the impact but Jamison kept it straight despite his clenched teeth, and as the other vehicle continued to roll over itself and came to a slow, crashing stop he looked down at his own feet and tapped the brake.  Seemingly dissatisfied with the result, he smacked at Roadhog to get his attention, already halfway evacuating the driver’s seat with the request.  “Turn it around, Hog!”

Roadhog lowered himself briskly and settled in as Jamison clambered back into the backseat with her and a moment later the car shifted, wheels digging into the dirt as he turned it around a bit more slowly before, the three of them no longer needing to rush.

They pulled up alongside what was left of the other vehicle and came to an abrupt stop, and in the sudden quiet Satya busied herself with the comms.

“Mercy, Reinhardt.”  There was no response.  “Winston, Tracer.”  Nothing as well.  Perhaps they were simply out of range.  She frowned and turned her attention to the Junkers.

Roadhog had made his way to the ruined vehicle, and although she briefly lost sight of him behind the wreckage it was not difficult to tell what he was doing.  When he stood she saw him lift the body of one of the Junkers and hold it up appraisingly before a large hand moved to curl around the top of their head.

It hurt to do so, but she raised her voice with alarm.  “Wait!” 

The large man’s mask turned toward her slowly and he held the body effortlessly, his large fingers still wrapped around its head, fully prepared to wrench it to the side and break its neck.

“Don’t kill them, please.  If they’re still alive.”

She could only imagine that he was giving her a questioning look and so she went on.  “We stole a vehicle and they may have just been trying to get it back.”

He was dubious.  She could tell by the way he failed to let the body go and so she tried again, gritting her teeth with the effort.  “Killing them might make it worse and Angela might be able to heal them.”

A look was exchanged between Jamison where he had perched on the trunk of the car and Roadhog, but the large man acquiesced with a shrug, starting to check bodies before pulling them together in an organized line.  It seemed by the way that he handled them that that many of them were unconscious, or at least she hoped they were, but her attention was distracted by a movement from the opposite side of the destroyed vehicle where a man was pulling himself from under the car and struggling to his feet.  A man dressed in leather with rubber armor on his shoulders and knees.  An eyepatch on his face.

Jamison recognized him before Satya did.  She had forgotten that Thompson had been on the other vehicle, but as Jamison launched himself from the trunk she realized suddenly who it was.  His peg leg sank into the ground as he landed with a growl and he tugged it out before taking fast strides, the earth packed just enough for him to gain speed, and she thought perhaps it was the fastest she had ever seen him move.  He was on Thompson quickly and literally, diving at the man’s feet and taking him to the ground, and even from the distance she could hear Thompson’s strained grunt as he hit the dirt, Jamison immediately scrambling on top of him.

She wasn’t certain what she could do but her body willed her to do _something_.  Her hand was on the door before she realized it, pushing it open, and she slid from the seat with a wince to her feet, holding onto the car door for support as she closed it, ignoring the pain in her side as her eyes locked on the struggle.  It became clear quickly that she needn’t have been concerned.  The brief scramble came to an abrupt halt as Jamison pulled his arm back and landed a punch against Thompson’s jaw that made her cringe and the man went immediately limp, his arms falling to his sides. 

Jamison wasn’t laughing as he pushed himself away to his feet, staring down at the unconscious form for a long moment before turning to look over his shoulder at her, trying to catch his breath.  His sharp teeth were bared, gritted together, and he bent over to loop his arms under the other man’s shoulders with a loud grunt as he lifted him up off of the ground and started to drag him back towards the car.

“We’re takin’ this one with us.” 

Roadhog had stopped to watch the struggle but began plodding to their vehicle as Jamison made his own way back.  It wasn’t long before the lanky Junker was at her side with Thompson in his arms, the gritted teeth finally having worked their way into a grin, even if it did look a little strained at the corners.  “You mind tyin’ him up?  Seems like we ain’t exactly on good terms.”

Satya nodded and quickly wove hard-light bindings over the man’s wrists as Roadhog sank into the car and turned the key in the ignition.  The engine turned over, rumbled, and then sputtered and died.  Both Satya and Jamison raised their heads to look at each other before Jamison dropped Thompson’s body unceremoniously to the ground, leaving him propped limply against the side of the car as he leaned forward, both hands on the door.

“What’s the problem, Roadie?”

The large man rolled his shoulders in a shrug and tried again with the same result, the wheezing sound grinding an anxiety into her that forced her eyes closed against it.  She heard Jamison push off the door and walk away, looping along the back of the vehicle where he came to an abrupt stop and she opened her eyes in time to see him standing there, a look of puzzled dismay on his face.  Somehow in the rush of all of it they had failed to notice the harpoon lodged in the side of the car, broken off at its chain, the liquid dripping down from where it had pierced the metal, the smell of gasoline.  They had hit the tank and it was draining rapidly, already near-empty.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.  The tank’s empty, Hog.”

She uttered a curse of her own internally.

None of them said anything for a long moment.  Roadhog got out of the car and didn’t bother to inspect the vehicle but began simply trudging around to the back while Jamison and Satya watched him, his attention returning quickly to her instead.

“Call the cavalry, yeah?”

“I already tried.  We’re not getting a response.”

Roadhog’s voice interrupted them, low and rumbling as ever but louder than typical.  “Stay here.”   He hadn’t looked at them.  He had already moved a short distance away, and it was clear he fully intended to walk away without them. 

Jamison straightened as he looked at the other Junker, his jaw going slack for a moment before he gathered himself.  “What, ’ere?  In the middle of nowhere?”

“Stay.  Here.”  The words were emphasized and firm, and Roadhog stopped to look over his shoulder at Jamison, clearly planning to stare him down from behind the mask if necessary.

“Roadie—” 

“No.”

“I’ll carry her meself.  Just—”

“Stop.”  Satya’s voice put an end to the argument as the both of them looked at her, going silent.  It was more than she felt prepared to handle, between the myriad sources of discomfort—the dirt, the heat, the pain in her side, and the fact that they were stuck out far from the town, the place not much of a comfort itself, alone and out of contact with the rest of the team without knowing what their status was—and she placed a palm flat against the door of the car to help stabilize her as she sank down into the shade, settling against the ground with her back against the metal with a small, quiet sigh, speaking only once she caught her breath.  “I shouldn’t move.”

Roadhog stood in silence.  Jamison objected.

“But—”

“The staples will hold.  It’s nothing too serious.  It’s superficial.  Please.”  The words didn’t allow for much argument and the exhaustion in her tone likely helped. 

Roadhog was out of sight but she heard the jangling of his chain as he moved, she assumed turning away once again.  “I’ll move faster anyway.  Keep an eye on her.” 

It was hesitance in Jamison’s voice.  She wasn’t sure what she had expected, something sullen, perhaps, but the mumble was quiet and submissive.  “… sure.  A’right.”

Satya kept her eyes on him as he stood, watching Roadhog head off toward the horizon where the dim outline of Junkertown was still visible.  It couldn’t be too far.  Less than ten kilometers, certainly.  It was gradual, the way Jamison’s attention returned to her, and he looked at her for a long moment before following her example and sitting down in the sparse shade, his own body pitched forward, his posture bent.  They sat on either side of the unconscious Thompson in absolute silence, both of their eyes on the dusty ground. 

Without the adrenaline from the chase the texture of the dirt and sand felt as though it were grating on her skin, the sweat on her back was uncomfortable, and the heat, despite the dryness of it, was oppressive.  ‘Miserable’ might have been the best term for it.  She was dirty and bloodied and in pain.  Her skin itched with the need to escape it but she knew she couldn’t and so she focused on trying to minimize the stress of it, attempting meditation and failing, particularly when Jamison’s voice broke the silence.

“You sure you’re a’right?”

Her eyes had slipped closed and she winced at the words, taking in the breath too quickly and being rewarded with a flash of pain.  “Yes.”  It was not a lie, not entirely.  She knew she would _be_ alright, at any rate, and dwelling on the situation seemed counter-productive, so she re-attempted to find her peace of mind.  It wasn’t working, and she wasn’t certain why. 

There was a long pause as she struggled, minutes easily, and then he spoke again.  The words seemed awkward and out of place.  “Don’t worry about Hog.  If he comes across someone they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

She debated responding; she didn’t want to—perhaps some of it out of spite, she couldn’t be sure—but her mind was running in circles, returning to uncomfortable thoughts as if trying to mirror how she felt physically, and they sat in silence for a while before the words came anyway, cracking her eyelids open with them.  They were hesitant, unhappy.  Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but she was feeling in no state to be gracious to anyone and despite her effort to mitigate the harshness of it it still broke through in her voice.

“You should have trusted Winston.  We should have stuck to the plan.”

Jamison didn’t seem to have expected the comment.  He blinked, his body turning rigid and his brow furrowing as he glanced at her, his lips pressing firmly together before he answered, sounding cautious.  “The plan changed.  He was in over his head.”

“He wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.  _We_ wouldn’t have.”

“That ain’t how it works here.”

She could hear herself getting louder, more insistent despite her effort to control it.  “Where we _are_ doesn’t matter.  We work together.”

A frustrated sound escaped him, a grinding noise from his throat that pitched upward at the end as he tried to form it into words.  “It wasn’t just for me.  You don’t know what it’s like.  Get the arenas full ‘a Junkers out for a fight?  Someone’s dyin’ and it’s likely gonna be you.”

She didn’t answer.  She was trying to think and not wanting to think anymore at the same time.  Wanting to forget where she was, what was happening, what had already happened.  It only made him try harder, made him sound a bit more desperate, like her silence was in itself a disapproval or a rejection of some sort.

“A’right, let’s say Winston manages to beat someone peaceful-like, yeah?  And then what, you think they’re just gonna call it a day?  Nah. Once you get ‘em out for blood somebody’s gonna die.  You think the gorilla was gonna do it?  So then it’s down to me.  Now, I don’t mind gettin’ me hands dirty.  Ain’t like I haven’t done it before.  But then it’s a matter of _principle_.”

He paused, giving her the chance to respond, but she couldn’t come up with the words and she could feel his agitation as he went on, his teeth gritted, starting to get lost in what he was saying.

“You come to Junkertown, you play by _their_ rules.  Fight to the death’s a fight to the death an’ you better do it with a smile on your face or they ain’t gonna be satisfied.  All this showin’ mercy stuff is what gets you in trouble.  The gorilla tries to spare someone, alluva sudden he’s tryin’ to spoil their fun.  Disrespectin’ their ways.”  There was another pause but it was clearly not for her; his words were slowing down as if he was in the process of puzzling something out that he hadn’t realized before.  “Lookin’ down his nose at it, like he’s superior or somethin’.”  His prosthetic hand had begun to curl in a fist as she glanced to the side at him.  “Like he _knows_ better.”  It had all taken on too much weight, and he tried to shake it off with a low grunt.  The fist unfurled to allow his finger to point to the ground with the words, pinning them to the dirt like it would make them more solid.  “Now it ain’t just one person they want dead but two, and they’ll pull out whatever stops they got to do it.  And by this point ya got a whole bloody arena full of ‘em surroundin’ ya.  A whole city on ya.”  He’d become rapidly more agitated was breathing more heavily by the time he stopped, lost in his own thoughts and suddenly silent, and it took him a moment before he continued, all gritted teeth and tension.

“Everyone always knows better ‘til they don’t.  I may be three bangers short of a barbie but I know a bad situation when I see it.  Better to stop it before it gets that far.”

He might have been right.  She didn’t want to entertain the thought but she was having trouble keeping her thoughts organized, and she closed her eyes tightly, pushing it away with force in favor of addressing something else.

“If you’ve upset people here, you realize this might mean more bounty hunters.”

He was quieter than before.  Calmer, if only slightly.  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I think perhaps you should worry about it more.”

“No one’s gonna be comin’ after me.  Not from here, anyway.  People don’t _get_ out of Junkertown.”

She supposed the bounty hunters who had come after him before had had significant help from some outside source, and his suggestion seemed to hold some weight.  There were very few ways to even leave Junkertown, after all, let alone travel the thousands of kilometers required to make it anywhere remotely civilized.  Still, the statement bothered her.  She countered it, her voice dropping to something softer than she had intended.

“ _You_ did.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t normal.”  There was a bitterness there and she wasn’t sure where it came from—her admonishment, their situation, or something in what he had just said—and he shifted his weight, turned subtly away from her, and settled into a sullen silence.  She suddenly regretted bringing it up.  Chastising him hadn’t made her feel any better.  If anything it made her feel worse.

The silence that resumed felt more uneasy and she occupied herself by chewing on the inside of her cheek.  She wanted to spin something from hard-light, but she was tired and it felt too much like a reminder of everything that had already occurred and she attempted to force her mind blank instead, succeeding only in making herself more frustrated. 

A gentle beep rang suddenly in her ear.  She could tell that Jamison had heard it as well by the way his body shifted in her field of view and she pulled herself straight, needing a moment to orient herself.  He pulled a packet dutifully from the satchel at his side and she blinked, shaking her head to clear it before reaching into the thin pocket at her hip to do the same. 

It was empty.  She tried again, patting the thin fabric more carefully, but there was nothing.  The pills were gone, taken, and it _had_ to have been by Ava, perhaps when Satya had looked away, perhaps when she had given her the spring.  Jamison’s words came back to her.  Deflection.  A spike of panic struck her, setting her heartbeat a bit too fast, and she stared ahead of herself blankly with her hand still pressed against the pocket as though by keeping it there so she might simply will the medicine back into existence, seeing nothing as the seconds passed.  It felt ridiculous but it was there all the same, the dread that came with the idea of exposure, the idea of what the recovery might be like.  The thought of being tainted by it, somehow. 

A flash of orange metal appeared in her field of view and it pulled her violently from her own thoughts.  Jamison’s prosthetic, a packet held out to her in the palm of it, two red and yellow pills held neatly inside.

“Take it.”

Uncertain, she stared at the packet in silence.  They could each take one.  It would buy them an hour.  It was a period of time that suddenly felt shorter than it had before. 

His voice cut off her thoughts before she could verbalize them.  “Don’t really know how long we’ll be out here.  Seems like the best thing would be for you to hold onto ‘em.”  When she didn’t take it he frowned and wriggled the packet to the tips of his fingers, holding it a bit more insistently.  “I’m already in treatment anyway.” 

She looked to him and he offered her a weak, not entirely convincing smile.  But she lifted her gauntleted hand and curled it cautiously over the packet, plucking it out from between his fingers and drawing it to herself with a faint frown of her own.  She was quick to take one and even quicker to zip the packet shut and replace it with care back in her pocket.  The feel of the pill on her tongue was more of a relief than she would have ever expected.

The medication had been a peace offering whether it was intended as one or not and it slowly loosened her tongue as her mind returned to thoughts she had been avoiding.  They felt slightly easier, as if just enough of their weight had been lifted, though she wasn’t sure by what.

“I feel like an idiot.”

The words hung there, blunt and impassive as she stared at the ground in front of herself.  She knew she looked beyond unhappy.  She could feel it in the way her lips were pressed too tightly together, the way her eyebrows pinched upwards toward one-another, and she hated it but she suddenly felt too exhausted to care. 

His voice was uncertain when it came to her with an odd undercurrent of surprise, like it hadn’t been what he had expected to hear.  “You shouldn’t.”  There was a question in it as well.  Like he was offering the assurance without knowing what it was about.

“I allowed them to take away our only means of departure.”  She held back the sigh that threatened to come with it.  “I should have stayed with the car but I allowed myself to be distracted.”  _I should have, I should have…_   It felt as though the place had muddled her judgment and she swallowed the irritation with herself, unable quite to rid herself of it.  It was a reminder of how ill-suited she had been for it, of how inadequate it had made her feel.  She wasn’t meant for someplace like this.  A quiet thought interrupted her: she wasn’t sure if _anyone_ was.

He didn’t need the time to build confidence back in his voice—it was full of it when he answered and firm with conviction.  “It ain’t your fault.  Got ourselves another car, anyway.”

“Yes, which resulted in us being chased.” 

“I reckon we woulda been chased anyway.  Maybe by a few less.”  Her eyes shifted to their corners to watch him silently and she noted the way he cringed back, just slightly, before going on.  “Pretty sure some ‘a them were after me to begin with, given the circumstances.”

He was right, she knew.  It did nothing to make her feel better and she could feel the emotion in her voice despite her best efforts to keep it at bay.  “I allowed them to trick me.  It should have been obvious.”

A thoughtful hum came from him in the pause as he mused over her words.  “They did us one favor, at least.” 

“And what is that.”

“Pointed me to an easy mark.”

The suggestion pulled her from her thoughts and brought her back to the chase, to the details of it, and she responded grudgingly.  “I believe one of them may have cut the brakes.  On the car that was in front of us.  The one with the gun.”

Jamison offered an amused snort.  “Clever little rugrats.  Told you, they helped us out.”

Satya lifted her eyes back to him and caught his own, holding his gaze with a small frown.  “That was likely your doing.”

He didn’t offer her a denial, not quite, but he rolled a shrug over his shoulders in something careless as he answered.  “What, for givin’ ‘em lollies an’ scrap?  I got my doubts you stood around doin’ nothin’.”

“Simply some pointless hard-light construction.”  Her eyes darted away again, back to the ground, and she allowed the sigh to finally escape her and felt slightly better for it.  “I thought perhaps I had made some small difference.” 

Jamison didn’t ask how but she could feel him looking at her still.  “You did somethin’ to get their loyalty.  For what it it’s worth.”

She could only manage a quiet ‘Mm’ of acknowledgment before she repeated after him.  “For what it’s worth.”

“Look…”  He was struggling with the words and she could tell, could even imagine the look on his face as he did it.  “Appreciation ain’t the same as survival.  Appreciation’s what got us a workin’ car.  Kids ain’t gonna stick their necks out too far, though.  I’m surprised they went as far as they did.”  He took in a deep, slow breath and a moment later she heard it leave him as a sigh.  She glanced toward him without turning her head and found him looking elsewhere, his hands wringing together uneasily.  “They ain’t bad.  Not really. Even the thievin’ ones.”  For a moment he did nothing but worry at the skin between his thumb and his forefinger, pressing against it lightly with metal digits.  “Just doin’ what they have to to get by.”

It seemed suddenly as though he needed her to understand something and she turned her head to look at him fully, staring at him for a long moment.  Whatever it was she couldn’t quite determine it and so she only sighed, the words leaving her without much conviction.

“I suppose you’re right.”

In reality she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and so she went silent and was grateful when he did the same.  Meditation came easier somehow and she reached up to carefully let her hair down and began to run her hands through it, gingerly working out the knots to keep her fingers occupied, breathing a bit more smoothly when it rested in a long curtain over her shoulders, even with the heat.

He watched her, she knew; she thought she could feel it even though her own gaze remained pointed forward and when she chanced a look at him his eyes flitted away in a way that seemed both nervous and guilty.  He let the silence linger and she thought, perhaps, that he did so for her benefit and when the words came they were quiet, muttered mostly to himself. 

“Ain’t even got our supplies…” 

They hadn’t brought much but there were the basics, she was certain: water and food.  They were all in the other car, the jalopy, the one they had been forced to leave in Junkertown.  He paused, seemed to think for a moment, and quietly unbuckled the canteen hitched around his waist.  His fingers wrapped carefully around it and held it out to her, tentatively and earnestly, his head slightly bowed and his eyes flitting away when her own met them.  She took it.  He watched her as she twisted the cap open and brought it to her lips, taking a breath of it.  Boba tea, as expected.  But it was something to drink, no matter how sweet, and she took a sip of it, chasing the lowering of it from her lips with a near-inaudible sigh.  She held on to it for a while longer, drinking until she was satisfied, and replaced the cap, holding it out for him to take.  His mind had clearly wandered elsewhere; the look he gave her was a confused one until he realized what she was offering and he waved it away with a small shake of his head. 

“You should keep it.”

Something in his tone suggested that disagreeing would do little good so she tucked the canteen against her side for safekeeping and murmured her own response.  “Thank you.”

His earlier conviction seemed to have faded away entirely.  She could see it in his posture.  The way he curled in on himself, turned his body subtly away.  Tried to make himself smaller.  His voice came as a mumble.  Almost a whisper, actually. 

“Dunno how I’m gonna make this one up to ya.  Managed to fuck it all up pretty good.”

Her silence prompted him to lower his head, running both hands back through his hair carefully before he went back to his former posture, his fingers twitching erratically as if desperate for something to do as he went on, the words chasing after a quiet, defeated-sounding sigh.  “I know you hate it.  Here.  All ‘a this.  I don’t blame ya.  I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t.”  His eyes were pointed toward the ground when she glanced toward him, unfocused and suddenly looking tired.  “Guess you’re right about this place.  Filthy and violent an’ all that.” ~~~~

He lifted his head to look at her and met her eyes and she could see something pleading in them and it bled into his voice.  “… it wasn’t gonna work, anyway.  Y’know that, right?  The monkey’s way.”

A low laugh drifted up from beside her with something of a groan in it, the sound coarse and growing in volume, and Jamison lifted his head without a sign of surprise and looked at Thompson darkly as the man came to.  She shifted her eyes toward him as well.  She had forgotten his presence, really, despite him lying right beside her, but the reality of it was shoved forcibly back into her consciousness as he started to speak in a rough voice, his single eye drifting over Jamison as a faint curve overtook one corner of his lips.

“Jamison Fawkes.  Beggin’ for scraps.  Ain’t really a surprise, is it?”

Jamison’s jaw tensed in a far too obvious way and his voice was a low, dangerous mutter as he responded.  “Keep me bloody name outta your mouth.”  He didn’t defend himself or even offer any real threat but shuffled his foot against the end of the peg leg, his chest rising in an uneven breath as he stared at the other man for a moment longer before shifting his eyes out in front of himself in a silent glare.

Thompson turned his attention toward her, perhaps not having gotten the reaction he wanted from Jamison. 

“What kinda string you got our Junkrat on?”  His tone was conversational, like there was nothing strange about the situation, and as she stared at him she forced herself to remain expressionless, even when his eye moved over her too slowly.  “He always did like pretty things.”

Jamison’s body twitched and jerked forward as if he were about to pounce on the man but she moved faster.  She was on top of Thompson quickly, doing her best to ignore the intense pain that shot up her side with the motion but unable to help but cringe.  The man underneath her stared at her with one narrowed eye in an expression that was both surprised and intrigued and she took in a slow breath through her nostrils.  She would have preferred intimidation.  She would have to work with what she had and luckily the man seemed more than willing to talk.  His voice drawled heavily over the words as he looked up at her, unconcerned to have her weight on him.

“Don’t think I got your name.”

“Satya Vasawani.”  Her expression remained neutral as she looked at him despite her awkward position and she maintained his gaze, forcing her thoughts to quiet.

“Pleasure to meet ya.”

“Mm.  I’m certain it is.”  She straightened her spine so that she could gesture more easily, her finger tapping lightly on the hard light binding his wrists, and she raised her eyebrows with the question.  “Do you know what this is?”

Thompson’s eye flicked downward and he managed something like a shrug, a disinterested thing that lit a brief flash of irritation in her.  “Some kinda glass or somethin’.“

Her expression was kept perfectly blank, carefully monitored, and she pulled her eyes from his own to look at the space between her hands as she lifted them, curling her fingers toward one-another as a gentle, nebulous light began to form in the space between her palms.

“It is a kind of technology you couldn’t possibly understand.  I can make whatever I like with it.  Would you like to see?”

“Satya, what’re ya doin’?”   Jamison’s voice drifted to her from the side sounding small and lost, barely audible as if Thompson weren’t meant to hear.  She ignored the question entirely and brushed away the faint pang of guilt.  There were other, more important things that required her full attention.  He would have to wait.

“Yeah, a’right.”  Thompson’s voice hesitated over the words but in a way that suggested disinterest rather than fear and she diverted her gaze just enough to note the smirk that had taken over his lips, a look of satisfaction that threatened to disrupt her concentration by pulling something dangerous out of her.

A shape began to slowly take form between her hands and she engrossed herself with the task, the weaving of it serving to clear her mind as it so often did, grounding her as she refined it into exactly what she wanted: a thin, curved blade, translucent under the sunlight, very much like the one she had used against the bounty hunter.  She held it for a moment between her hands before her fingers pinched and she brought it into reality with a flourish, pulling the shape out of thin air and wrapping her fingers delicately around the handle.

The man underneath her tipped his chin upward with an unimpressed snort.  “I guess that’s somethin’.”

“It is indeed.”

She leaned forward towards Thompson underneath her slowly and her hair slipped off of her shoulder, enveloping the right side of his face in shadow.  Jamison remained in her peripheral vision and even without letting her eyes move away from Thompson’s she could see his body tense, his hands lifting away from his legs and curling into uncertain, loose fists in front of himself.  She didn’t so much as look at the knife in her hand as she pressed it against the curve of Thompson’s throat, harder than was necessary, her features impassive and her voice lowered as she spoke with crisp words, each one emphasized in the need to make sure she was fully understood.

“If you say so much as one more word to him I will slit your throat myself.”

Seconds passed but Thompson held her gaze and she felt the way her thumb moved across the back of the blade to press more firmly against it, everything coming through a fog, and only the slow quickening of the man’s pulse under the palm of her hand where it rested against his chest pulled her out of it.  Her withdrawal was abrupt and the man let out a hasty breath of air she hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  A thin line of blood marked his throat where the blade had been and she glanced down toward the knife in her hand before carefully pulling her hair back over her shoulder and slipping off of him, retaking her seat in silence, the knife placed in the dirt beside her and her eyes directed pointedly out over the desert.

Jamison was staring at her.  She knew as much in the pause punctuated only by Thompson’s breathing, but it was only a moment longer before Jamison rolled on top of the man again and brought his fist down across his jaw with a quiet, strained sound, something between a grunt and a huff of air.  She kept her eyes forward but could see the man’s legs go abruptly limp as he was thrown back into unconsciousness and Jamison followed it with a mutter, a subdued thing that didn’t need to be any louder.

“Stuff it, mate.”

The only sound remaining was Jamison’s harsh breath as he sat there trying to catch it and she turned her eyes to him slowly.  She could see his chest heaving with it and something strange lingering on his face, an expression seeming torn between frustration and uncertainty.  But he had his voice, even if it was still quiet and oddly gentle.

“Gimme that bandanna, love.”

He intended to gag the man, she realized, and her response came immediately, before she could even think about it.  “No.”  The confusion on Jamison’s features was obvious even though she only allowed herself a brisk glance at him.  “I would rather give him the opportunity to hang himself.”

Jamison stared at her with wide amber eyes before looking down at Thompson and blinking, caught up in some thought before he slid off of the other man to fall roughly to a seat beside her and slumped back against the side of the car, apparently still in some kind of shock. 

The silence returned and it didn’t take long before she felt something, a subtle pressure against the smooth surface of her gauntlet, and she allowed her eyes to move to their corners to see Jamison’s prosthetic hand tentatively seeking out her own, his pinky curling over hers and the rest of his fingers following after when hers tensed, pulling them closer.  They settled into a silence that was as comfortable as it could be given the circumstances, both of them staring straight ahead at the wreckage of the other vehicle and the desert that sprawled out behind it, not a single sound intruding except the beat of her own heart and her slow, calm breath.  She hadn’t expected to find some kind of peace but she wasn’t going to complain and she reveled in it while she had the chance.

It was Lena’s voice that interrupted the quiet over the comm system, the sound coming in unsteadily.  Due to the distance, she supposed.

“Symmetra?  Junkrat?”

Satya answered for the both of them.  “Yes.  We’re here.”

“We’re headed to your position.  Roadhog is with us.”

It was a relief to hear Lena’s voice, and even moreso to hear that they were on their way, but her concern took priority over all else.  They had left under less than ideal circumstances and they had no news of Winston since the chaos began.  She raised her voice to be better heard.  “Is everything alright?”

Lena sounded in good cheer, although with her that wasn’t necessarily revealing.  “Yes.  Things have calmed down.  Got a bit hairy there for a while but things seem alright now.” 

“And Winston?”

“Perfectly fine.  The Junkers, they actually seemed to like it.  Sort of, anyway.  Not so much the property damage, I think.  They gave us our information anyway… I guess we kept it interesting enough for them.  Some people aren’t so happy, though.  We… might have to help fix a few things.  It’s still a bit tentative.”  The pause was brief, punctuated only by a quick sigh before she went on, and Satya thought there may have been a smile in her voice.  With Lena it was a safe bet.  “Still, all in all I’d say things went better than we could have expected.  Not that we’re going to overstay our welcome.”

Satya breathed a slow sigh of relief and felt a tension she hadn’t realized had built up in her leave her body.  She wasn’t sure who to credit the success to.  She wasn’t certain it mattered.

“We may not have made as many friends.”

“So we were told.  We’ll smooth over what we can.  We’re grouping up at the drop ship and will hold a temporary base there.  You and the others may have to sit tight for a couple of hours while we put out a couple of fires.  Literally and figuratively.  Roadhog said you were injured?”

“It’s nothing serious.”

There was a hesitance before the woman responded.  “Well, Mercy will have you patched up in no time.”  Her change in tone made it clear her words were being diverted elsewhere.  “… Junkrat?”

Jamison’s voice was flat when he answered and it was enough for Satya to shift her attention to him. 

“Yeah.”

“Status report?  I heard it was a bit of a rough ride.”

“Just some bumps ‘n scrapes.”

She narrowed her eyes to examine him more closely as the silence grew on the comms.  He had let go of her hand and returned to something more subdued and tense, his body bent as if under some weight.  His free hand lifted to run through his hair and he paused to look at his empty palm as he pulled it away from his scalp, examining the spaces between his fingers, looking for something carefully, perfectly still for a moment.

“Alright.  Mercy’s looking forward to seeing you all the same.”

Jamison offered no reply.  She could practically feel Lena trying to impart a sense of cheer as she went on.  “See you soon, loves!  ETA in about ten minutes.”

The earpiece went silent and they were left to the desert again.  Minutes went by, she wasn’t certain how many, but the lack of everything felt a bit less comfortable with him bowed forward, with the way his body had slumped forward into itself, his chin resting against the arm he had propped up on his knee and his legs pulled tight to his body.  It seemed better not to look at him but his change in mood was surprisingly distressing.

“Jamie?”

He twitched, started.  His body replied slowly like a snake cooled from the shade, just getting to bask in the first beams of light, straightening as he lifted his chin and sat up, turning his head at a slight angle to glance at her with a wordless, questioning sound.  “Mm?”

“Why didn’t you want to go to the Omnium?”

“Oh.”  His eyes turned forward once again and he kept them on the horizon as he answered.  “Lotta radiation over there.”

The words were blunt to the point of being suspicious and she narrowed an eye thoughtfully.  They had the medication to do the job, or at least, they thought they had at the time.  It didn’t seem correct, somehow.

“That can’t possibly be all.”

His fingers twitched—agitation, she imagined—and it took him a long moment to respond.  “Strange place.  Only desperate people go there.”

“You went there.”  She had thought, anyway.  She thought she remembered something about his finding the treasure there… a mysterious thing that she had avoided talking about with him, not certain where she would even start.  “Didn’t you?”

He cringed and amended it with a narrowed eye and a shrug.  She had the feeling it was meant to come with a grin and a humorous tone but one never developed.  “Desperate or crazy.  At any rate, it ain’t safe.  Never know what you’re gonna find.”  His fingers fiddled with one-another as he rolled another shrug over his shoulders as though it might dislodge the topic in favor of something else.  “Didn’t seem worth the risk, takin’ you there.”

“I see.”  A faint crease worked its way onto her brow as she glanced down at herself, her free hand brushing gingerly against the bloodied slit in the fabric of her uniform at her stomach.  She hadn’t intended to draw attention to it but when she raised her eyes again he was looking at her, his lips pulled downward and his own forehead deeply furrowed in a look of affliction.

“Didn’t exactly work out the way I planned.”

“You had a plan?”  She had pushed the pain aside and her tone was dry and the strange desire to have him look at her welled up, as though she needed him to see her face so that he understood and the risk that he might not suddenly felt too high.  But his lips curled into a small grin albeit with obvious difficulty, the expression having to fight to make its way onto his features and for once she felt as if their roles were reversed.  It was a strange feeling.  A weak laugh was pulled out of him all the same.

“Feel like you might’ve not followed one, yourself.”

“Mm.  It didn’t turn out so well.”

“Maybe we oughta stick to what we know.”

She lifted an eyebrow in a tall arc as she looked back to him.  “’What you know’ tends to get you in quite a lot of trouble.”

He looked away and hesitated, rubbing his palms together, metal grating against skin in a motion she imagined couldn’t be at all pleasant.

“Winston ain’t gonna be happy.”

“No.  He isn’t.”

It was only the truth but he looked hurt all the same and a silence returned but he came back with a stronger tone and a new focus.

“Sorry about all that stuff I said.”

“You may have been right.”  Her voice lowered, sounding weak to her own ears, and she cringed against a thought she wasn’t ready to entertain yet.  “About Vishkar.”  It brought things vividly back in her memory and she closed her eyes tightly against it, taking in a hard breath that was nearly a gasp, strong enough to irritate the cut on her side.  She cringed and it was difficult to tell what it should be attributed to.  “You _were_ right.”

For the first time she desperately wanted to say more.  She wanted to say how hard it was, how much it hurt to think about, but when she parted her lips her mind locked down on it and she came up with absolutely nothing, a shallow furrow on her brow and her eyes tightly closed for a moment as she pressed her lips shut, giving up.  She couldn’t be entirely sure if he noticed, if he had any idea what was behind the silence, but he spoke anyway in a quieter voice tinged with compassion.

“Seems like the bastards really did a number on you.”

Her eyes cracked open carefully into the sun and, unable to find anything to say, she sought out his hand instead to lace her fingers with his like he had before.

It couldn’t have been many minutes later.  The gentle hum of the transport ship preceded the sight of it as it quickly grew to something larger than a speck in the sky and they withdrew from each other hastily as the both of them raised their eyes, squinting as they watched the ship approach, slow, and sink to the ground with a gentle hiss as it settled against the red earth and Satya immediately felt lighter.  It took no time at all for the hatch to split open and drop to the ground, the ramp quickly accommodating a collection of the team as Winston, Angela, and Roadhog disembarked.  It was surprising to see only the three of them and she couldn’t help the concern in her voice as they approached.

“Where are Lena and Reinhardt?”

Winston spoke as Angela moved toward the two of them with quick, delicate steps, her staff in hand as she moved.  “Bringing our vehicle back with them.  We’re at capacity with the transport ship, unfortunately.” 

Angela attended to Satya first, moving swiftly to her side but hesitating at the sight of Thompson unconscious beside them before dropping to the ground and bringing her hands to the wound.

Winston stopped in his tracks.  “Who’s this?”

Jamison got to his feet with a grunt and nudged the man with his peg leg none too gently.

“Old mate of mine.  Didn’t have the best reunion.”

Satya distracted herself with the words as Angela pinched the skin and pulled the staples back.  She hissed, a sharp intake of breath at the pain, but an instant later a cool tingling sensation rushed through the wound, drawing a gasp from her.  She had never gotten used to it and imagined she never would, but the wound began to slowly pull shut, the pain receding with it.  She was still a bit breathless as she spoke.

“Thank you, Angela.”

“You are more than welcome.  I’m so sorry you went through this.”

Satya managed a faint smile even if she didn’t feel it much.  “Isn’t it part of the job?”

She didn’t often see the expression on the woman’s face, but Angela’s lips curled upward in a smirk, her tone chiding.  “It’s not something you should make a habit of.  I think Jamison does enough of it for all of us.”

Satya opted to sit a bit longer as Roadhog moved closer and lowered a hand to offer her a canteen.  She took it appreciatively and unscrewed the cap, raising it to her lips to take a long, satisfying drink.

Jamison had begun to heft Thompson’s body up with him but Angela turned to him and pressed the man’s head downward until Jamison got the message and dropped him, not bothering to do it gently.  The woman gave him a ‘tsk’ of admonishment as she brought her hands to his face and abruptly pulled at his eyebrows and his lower eyelids, examining his pupils.

“And how many times were you hit in the head?”

“Only a couple.”

Satya glanced up to him to see Angela eyeing him disapprovingly, running her gaze over the slight bruising on his face and his bloodied nose.  “You’re an absolute mess.”  She had already pulled a cloth from the kit she had brought with her and begun wiping off some of the dried blood but he cringed and batted her gently away with a weak, awkward-looking smile.

“I’m fine, mum.”  His expression turned more crooked, changed into a sardonic grin that looked tired but relieved and, most importantly, real.  It was an expression that Angela mirrored even as she withdrew, satisfied enough with his condition if not his cleanliness.

 “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Winston’s voice broke in, patient and measure.  “I’m glad you’re all alright.”  There was a firmness to it, something that suggested it wasn’t up for debate.  “Jamison, we’ll have to talk about this.  Particularly about the fact that you brought along a bomb that powerful in the first place.”

It was surprising how sheepish Jamison was in his response.  “Yeah.  A’right.  Just… thought it might go all tits-up.  Reckoned it was worth preparing for.”

Winston didn’t seem prepared for the contrition either and narrowed an eye gently as he looked over the Junker, a moment later seeming more or less satisfied.  “Understood.  We can talk more about it later.”

There were other things to be concerned about, after all, like getting back to the drop ship.  Luckily the low rumble of an engine in the distance signified Lena and Reinhardt’s arrival, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw them approaching on the horizon, glad, at least, that she would soon be out of the desert and back to some small semblance of civilization.

* * *

They were back to the drop ship quickly, back to Torbjörn and Brigitte and the array of turrets that was quickly removed as they approached, the short man waiting for them with an assortment of snacks and water, meager things that felt like a luxury nonetheless.  They tumbled from their various vehicles and emerged back into the sun, all of them seeming a bit less tense for it, and Satya reveled in the sight of the drop ship, Jamison’s garish, uneven smiley face painted on the side of it and all.

There was little to unpack from either vehicle and Jamison lugged the tire out of the back of the car and replaced it on his back, slinging the frag launcher over his shoulder and trudging the short distance back to the drop ship as Roadhog followed behind in absolute silence.  The reunion with the team was a smooth one, all smiles, if not full of congratulations—things hadn’t exactly gone to plan, after all, regardless of how successful the final result had been.  There was still a vague undercurrent of tension but none of them seemed interested in addressing it and she was happy to ignor it as well in favor of chatting with all of them instead about relatively benign things, simple accounts of what had happened, comments about their time spent in the desert, comforting words about what they had gone through. 

She failed to notice until he was standing on the outskirts of their team that Thompson had woken and had been pushed none-too-gently toward the gathering of people at Jamison’s insistence, joining the small crowd in silence, as if the spell she had placed on him was firmly in place, the man having decided to say nothing to anyone, not simply to keep his mouth shut with regards to Jamison.

Thompson went largely ignored by all of them.  Jamison seemed happy enough to keep it that way as Winston addressed them all.

“Thanks, all of you.  I appreciate all of your efforts, especially rolling with the multiple punches, as it were.  I think ultimately we’re pretty satisfied with the results.”  He didn’t quite look it, but the words seemed genuine anyway, and his chest rose and fell with generally content breath.  “Lena, Reinhardt, Angela, and I will be going back to smooth some things over and the rest of you can stay here and get some rest.  It might take a while.  A few hours at most.”

He shifted his attention to Torbjörn and raised his eyebrows with the question.  “Do you have the bounty hunter?  He’ll be taking the jalopy back.”

“You’ve got it.”  The short man disappeared briefly as the others waited, exhaustion serving to keep them more or less quiet, and soon enough the bounty hunter was at Thompson’s side, the two of them regulated to a small group, separate from the rest of them.  Jamison stood closeby and despite his earlier exhaustion seemed more attentive than usual, his features bright as he watched Winston, waiting for the remainder of what he had to say.

The gorilla didn’t have much of a chance to speak before Lena spoke, the woman’s voice holding a note of uncertainty to it as she sidled up beside Winston, nodding her head towards Thompson where he stood, still in the hard-light shackles.  “What are we going to do with him?”  The question wasn’t really meant to be an open one but it was loud enough for anyone to hear, and there was a strange, uneasy quiet that followed before Jamison broke in with a tone that seemed entirely oblivious.

“Well… kill ‘im.”  The words were so matter-of-fact that he sounded almost baffled that he had to say it at all but when no one offered an immediate response he amended it as if it might help.  “Maybe rough ‘im up a bit first.” 

The entire team was silent and he glanced between them with a slow change of his expression, his brow furrowing as a gentle confusion set in.  She thought she could hear a newly-formed tone of desperation in his voice, quiet but threatening to grow.  “We _are_ gonna kill ‘im, right?” 

It was Winston who responded.  He stepped forward as though to draw as much of Jamison’s attention as possible and she could hear a cautiousness in his voice and could see the breath he took in, holding it rather than releasing it as a sigh.  “We can’t do that.”

Jamison burst into an uneven laugh and lifted his hands up in front of himself, palms out, eyes closed briefly as he lowered his head to give it a shake.  When he looked back up at them it was with an incredulous smile and slightly narrowed eyes as if he were having trouble processing it and hadn’t quite managed yet, as if he were still somewhat convinced it was a joke.  “Lemme get this straight.  This bloke tries to kill us and we’re just gonna let him go.”

“I’m not quite sure what you expected, Jamison.  We can’t just execute him.”  The gorilla’s voice had dropped to something more patient and gentle than perhaps she had ever heard it, clearly attempting to navigate the situation carefully.  “We don’t have the right and it’s against what we stand for even if we did.”  The message that it was non-negotiable still didn’t get through to Jamison, not immediately.

“We could do it nice-like, yeah?  Skip the torture part, just put a bullet in his head.”

Winston shook his head in exasperation and turned to Roadhog.  “Mako, can you—”

There was absolutely no hesitation in the larger Junker’s response and for once his voice was perfectly audible as rumbled out of him in a tone that didn’t offer any room for argument.  “We should kill him.”

Deep furrows etched onto Winston’s brow as he looked between the two of them, his shoulders heaving with a hard sigh.  “We can’t just kill civilians.  I’ve been thinking about it and we’re going to take him to him to Sydney.  They’ll take care of it there.”  It was an attempt at conciliation, the effort of diplomacy clear in his voice, but Jamison pushed back, hard, his voice retaining the incredulity but slowly growing a hard, treacherous edge. 

“I’m thinkin’ you forgot where you are.  There ain’t any ‘civilians’ here.  And they won’t do anything in Sydney and you know it.  They don’t give two shits about what happens in Junkertown.” 

“Law and order means something, even in a place like this.  For us, anyway.  Overwatch has to serve as an example.  We can’t let the same thing that happened last time—”  The gorilla stopped himself, shaking his head, looking troubled, and it took him a second to gather himself before he could continue.  “We had an agreement with the bounty hunter, a decision we included you in.  And your friend won’t be a threat to us anymore.”

She glanced towards Thompson, who stood in absolute silence next to Reinhardt, his single eye drifting between them as they argued.  Perhaps he had a sense of self-preservation after all.   Her attention was drawn back to Jamison at the strained and frustrated sound that dragged itself half-strangled from his throat.

“He tried to kill me more than once, that doesn’t mean anythin’?”

“I can pull some strings.  We can get him behind bars for good.”

Each word that was pulled from him was rapidly growing in agitation.  “I don’t _want_ him behind bars, I want him _dead_!” 

Jamison’s voice had turned into something loud and piercing, and he brought his hands to his head after the statement, curling his fingers roughly against his scalp as he bent in on himself, the muscles of his body coiling under the stress of it.  He held the pose for a moment with shoulders rising and falling slowly with each breath and she wavered, her own breath coming a bit more shallow as she held her hands in loose fists at her side to keep herself still.  It didn’t seem as though intervening would do any good and could perhaps make it worse and she didn’t have the confidence in her capabilities to force herself to move.  But he righted himself slowly after a moment, standing straight, his breath calming and his expression rapidly smoothing out to something quiet even if his hair was in disarray from the way his hands had clung to it, still giving him an air of wildness as he spoke.

“Nah.  Y’know what?  You’re right.  That’s fine.  We let him go.” 

It was beyond dubious and she could hear the same emotion in Winston’s words as he watched the lanky Junker closely.  “You don’t want us to take him to Sydney?”

Jamison’s voice pitched upward in a subdued laugh, a somewhat tired-sounding giggle that ended in a wheeze as he brushed the idea off with a careless wave of his hand.  “Nah.  More trouble than it’s worth.  Can’t do anything to hurt me now anyway, like ya said.  He’ll probably get knifed the second he gets back to Junkertown as it is.”

“You’re sure.”

“It ain’t worth it.  Guess I should give an old mate a pass, anyway.  Bygones be bygones an’ all that.”  His grin had eased into something that seemed more genuine but still seemed vaguely out of place on his features, and when Winston looked toward Roadhog for further assurance he received nothing but the blank stare of the mask.

Maybe it was concern and a hope for a peaceful resolution that overrode some of their suspicion, but there was a pause before Winston spoke, tentatively.

“… well.  Alright.”  The gorilla eyed Jamison for a moment longer with a troubled look to him, a deep crease on his brow, but ultimately it seemed like there was little else to do and so he shifted his eyes to her and she wasn’t at all prepared for it.  ”Satya?  If you wouldn’t mind.”

She may have been imagining it, but it felt like the entire team’s attention was on her save for Jamison, who had focused an intense stare on Thompson, his chest rising and falling slowly as he watched the other man.  Something was very wrong, even with what Jamison had said, and she couldn’t force herself to move for a moment but stood there looking at him instead.  The idea of stepping between the two men made her cringe, but Winston had given the order and so she moved as quickly as she could toward Thompson in the hopes of getting it over with as quickly as possible.  The shackles were off of him with a pinch of her hand, the hard-light shattering and falling to the ground, and she didn’t look at him, the proximity alone enough to feel like her skin was crawling and she was certain it affected her expression.  And she felt as though she couldn’t have looked at Jamison if she wanted to. 

Her retreat was brisk and she settled in next to Angela, closer than before in the hope that the woman’s presence might offer her some form of comfort and it seemed as if the members of the team each made a conscious decision to pointedly shift their attention away save for the Junkers and Winston, Angela angling her body toward Reinhardt and Brigitte began returning to loading the ship under Winston’s unspoken dismissal and Lena hesitating at Winston’s side before abruptly zipping away.

The sudden absence of eyes on her prompted the thought to spark in her mind her that perhaps she should have simply slit Thompson’s throat when she had the chance and she was surprised by how little the idea bothered her.  Winston’s voice broke her out of it.  She breathed for what felt like the first time since the conversation had begun.

“I guess the two of you are free to go.  The keys are in the ignition.”

The jalopy had been parked a short distance off and the bounty hunter and Thompson started toward it together, each of them moving at an unhurried pace, Thompson with a slight limp.  Jamison watched them in absolute silence, rooted to the ground next with Winston on one side and Roadhog on the other, the three of them standing next to one-another with an eerie sense of calm.  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to take the risk to try to speak to Jamison—and Winston was still there, at any rate—but she did want to keep an eye on him to soothe her nerves if nothing else and so she stayed nearby, standing somewhat awkwardly close enough to hear them but near the ship as well, as if she were in the middle of deciding where she wanted to be.  The Junkers they had held captive were about halfway to their vehicle by the time Winston spoke again, breaking the silence.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, mate.  No skin off my back.”  Jamison’s fingers had begun a slow tapping on the frag launcher slung across his chest, the position of it worthy of concern, but he seemed disinterested in using it even as he pulled the strap off of his shoulder and gripped it, the muzzle pointed toward the ground and the weapon slack in his hand as the toe of his booted foot began to twitch instead, the rubber on the bottom of it hitting the soft earth near-soundlessly in a quickening rhythm that went entirely unnoticed by Winston, at least, and seemingly Roadhog as well.  Satya noticed it, however, but she wasn’t immediately sure what it signified aside from a rapidly-building agitation, one that grew worse with every step the other Junkers took toward the jalopy.  It seemed as though he decided abruptly to use his tongue to offset the energy as he spoke suddenly, his voice slightly more rushed than before.

“You mind if I have a quick rest before we get on the ship?  Just gonna take the tire off for a tick.  Been a long day.”  The look that he gave to Winston for approval was brisk and he was already working at the fastenings with his free hand in preparation for removing the thing off of his back.  It gave Winston no time to respond before Jamison shoved the frag launcher into his arms without giving him a chance to object.  “Hold this for me will ya, mate?  Ta.”  The gorilla took the weapon with a surprised blink, cradling it awkwardly in the one arm while the other hand remained on the ground in his typical posture, confusion obvious in his voice.

“Oh.  Um.  Sure.”

With his hands free Jamison unclipped the rip-tire, pulling it off of his back and setting it on the ground with a grunt and, released of the weight, he pulled his arms over his head in a languorous stretch, his muscles taut until he lowered them to settle his hands on his hips.  “Feels better already.  Thanks, mate.”  He pulled his prosthetic hand up to scratch idly at the bottom of his chin as he went on.  “Probably should apologize for the paint job, too.  It doesn’t look so bad though, does it?”

She could see Winston turn to look back at the ship as she did the same, her lips pulled gently downward in dismay as she eyed the bright yellow design, uncertain why he’d decided to draw attention to it.  It was a reminder of his misbehavior, after all.  But there was a strange sound, a gentle shuffling in the relative quiet and the faint clink of metal and she turned back just in time to see Jamison bent over with his hands on the pull cord of the rip-tire, his body tearing backward an instant later in one vicious motion, the metal and rubber of the thing digging into the ground as it roared to life sending up an arterial spray of red earth into the air that dusted Jamison’s skin and caked in the droplets of sweat on his shoulders to leave him dotted with small specks of deep crimson.  The tire was away with a life of its own and he turned to yank his frag launcher from a stunned Winston’s hand with his prosthetic fingers, tucking the butt of it neatly and efficiently into the crook of his elbow as his left hand lifted the detonator for the tire, a black-nailed thumb flicking the safety cap up in preparation, an only partially-restrained laugh between his teeth and his lips curled in a wide, wild-looking grin.

The rip-tire was headed toward the car and she could tell it was going to hit its mark, and quickly.  She could see the form of Thompson turn to look at it and freeze for just a moment before he began tearing off to the side in a graceless, panicked run away from the vehicle and out towards the desert and relative safety and for a moment it made her wonder if he had seen the tire in action before.

Something kept her from moving, her feet remaining rooted to the ground, rendering her incapable of doing anything.  She wasn’t sure what she _would_ do if she could.

Winston, however, had recovered himself from the shock.  “Jamison—”  His voice was firm as he brought a large hand down on the Junker’s shoulder but it was shrugged violently off and the lanky man took a step forward and away, his body jerking as he pulled the trigger of the frag launcher and sent a volley of grenades flying into the air with a familiar _ka-thunk_ as each one left the barrel.  Her eyes followed them and she noted the trajectory to the right of the rip-tire’s path, to the right of Thompson’s fleeing form, and for a moment she didn’t understand the aim until the first grenade hit the earth with a faint ring and then a boom and Thompson changed his path in a flurry of movement, away from the grenades and back towards the car, effectively herding him back into the rip-tire’s path.

The gorilla’s hand was suddenly on the frag launcher and he tugged it out of Jamison’s grasp but it didn’t matter; the tire was approaching its destination and he let the launcher fall to the side seemingly without even noticing its absence, his thumb lifting over the red button of the detonator, his eyes wide and shining yellow in the sunlight, contrasting against the red dirt that had caked his skin.  His body tensed in preparation with a flourish of his right hand, a splay of the metal fingers, and the silently-mouthed word: _kaboom_. 

But instead of the button Jamison’s thumb pressed down against a large, dark-skinned finger as Winston’s hand gripped Jamison’s own, blocking it by a thin margin that brought the whole scene to a stop nonetheless.

The whirr of the tire continued, still audible in the background, absent any explosion.  Winston took the opportunity of Jamison’s surprise to force his thumb further away and pull the safety cap back down over the button, rendering the detonator useless under a firm grip.  Shock registered on Jamison’s face as he looked uncomprehendingly at Winston’s paw, his eyes wide and stricken as his mind tried to puzzle it out, and it took a few rapid glances from the form of Thompson and the rip-tire approaching him back to the detonator for the reality of the scenario to finally click.  Panic crept onto his features as his body jerked backward abruptly in an attempt to free himself from the gorilla’s hold, something overtly frantic taking him over as he clawed at the detonator with his prosthetic hand in an attempt to remove the cap or pull it away.  Winston was like a stone, immovable, his expression difficult to read, a strange mix of concern and determination.

A loud sound of frustration came from Jamison, a ‘nngh!’ that pitched harshly upward as he struggled but it was getting him nowhere and he sucked in a loud breath of air as he started kicking instead, jabbing at Winston’s body with the peg leg.

“Ouch!”  Winston pulled the detonator forcibly from Jamison’s hand and withdrew, moved away a few steps, but Jamison scrambled after him, off-balance.  He was briefly at the gorilla’s feet before he began clawing his way up his body persistently, attempting to climb up a furry forearm as Winston stood to his full height and held the detonator as far away from the Junker as possible.

“Give it _back_!”

“ _Fawkes_ —”  The use of his name did nothing and she watched as Winston’s features changed into something more firm, something with conviction, his free hand lifting up to tug the Junker off of himself with relative ease and deposit him abruptly back on the ground.  Jamison stood there, his breath ragged as he stared up at the detonator, still out of reach.  It was a lost cause and he seemed to realize it, turning his eyes out toward the shape of Thompson in the distance, swiping the frag launcher from the ground and sending out a desperate volley of grenades that landed far too short.  The rip-tire had caught up with the vehicle and moved past it quickly as the two Junkers stopped and backed away, apparently realizing that it would not be hitting them as intended.   

Jamison’s voice was growing hoarse and rough in a way that made it sound like it was being ripped unwillingly from his throat, still holding the frag launcher and moving to reload it from one of the ammunition cases on his chest.  “No, no, no!”

A moment later the tire whirred to a halt and exploded far ahead of the other two Junkers, harmlessly.  Jamison went perfectly still. His expression turned dark, his pupils drawn to pinpoints despite the brightness of the sun and appearing endless because of it and he was suddenly on Winston, the frag launcher dropped to the ground as he threw his body at the gorilla in a hard shove with his full weight.  It was enough to make Winston drop back to all fours and Jamison regained his balance and reared back, his entire body pulling its mass together to send a punch swinging at the gorilla’s face.

Roadhog was there, his hand abruptly snagging Jamison’s arm in mid-swing and pulling it back towards himself and the lanky Junker was forced off his feet, crashing back against Roadhog’s body instead.  He was trying to regain his sense of direction and the large man took the opportunity to wrap his arms under each of Jamison’s own and hold him back, lifting and pulling him close to restrain him, Jamison’s back pressed against Roadhog’s stomach.

She hadn’t been able to move through all of it save for her hands curling into loose fists, one of them brought to her lips in a gesture of deeply troubled uneasiness, and it occurred to her that perhaps when Roadhog had tried to dissuade her from coming it hadn’t been to protect _her_ after all.

She wasn’t certain if Jamison even quite realized the situation or if the instinct to struggle had simply taken on a mind of its own as he jerked his body hard, twisting in Roadhog’s grip without success.  The frustration and anger overrode anything else that might have been in his voice as he closed his eyes tightly, the words clearly meant for Winston even if he wasn’t looking at him.  “You wouldn’t’ve gotten outta that town if it weren’t for me!  None of you would’ve.”  He went on, his voice getting louder and faster until it began to approach something close to a shriek.  “You said ya wanted my opinions on all ‘a this and then you ignored every single one of ‘em and now you’re lettin’ him go!”

For the first time she saw Winston visibly uncertain and stricken.  He had dropped the detonator and moved a step or two closer with genuine contrition on his face even as he spoke firmly, something Jamison was in no state to recognize even as he opened his eyes.  “I’m sorry.  It didn’t work out your way.  These weren’t easy decisions.”

The sound of an engine turning over and starting drifted toward them in the brief silence and she didn’t dare look over her shoulder to the source.  She wasn’t sure she would be able to handle the emotions that might come with it.

Jamison might have heard it, she couldn’t be sure.  His breath was coming in hard gasps that sent his chest heaving with each one and he gritted his teeth over the words.  She expected something of a growl.  It was closer to a whine.  “I did what ya wanted me to.  I tried it your way.  You don’t know what it’s like here.”  His body jerked against Roadhog’s grip again with another coarse sound dragging up from his lungs but it seemed weaker and his voice sounded crushed, quieter but still grating.  “None of you know what it’s like.”

The other members of the team had collected slowly through the commotion, Lena and Torbjörn standing at the ramp at the entrance to the ship and Angela and Reinhardt closer, having left their respective tasks, all of them watching.  She was thankful that Jamison’s eyes seemed to be focused on the ground.  She had a feeling that all of them being collected there could only make it worse.  At least, she knew what it felt like to have too many eyes on her even in her best moments.  No one else had moved but as she glanced at each of them she could see the alarm in each of their faces, the apprehension and the uncertainty.  Angela had raised both hands, folding her palms against one-another and lifted them to her lips in a mixture of shock and Satya turned away briskly, attempting to calm her own breath.  She could hear Jamison in the background still struggling against Roadhog’s grip as she tried to focus and found the task impossible no matter how many slow breaths she took.

“Lemme go, ya pig face!”

Standing still, doing nothing had begun to feel like it was destroying her and she took hold to the emotion and held it between her teeth with a clenched jaw as she tried to figure out what to do with it.  Finding the correct fix wasn’t like a puzzle and it was certainly no game.  No game felt like this.  But she had few options and she ran through them quickly in her mind, closing her eyes tightly as she reviewed them all.  She had not been doing well with words.  Each time she tried them it had felt as though it had only made things worse.  But when she had held his hand it seemed to have soothed him, however slightly.

When she opened her eyes to look at him again he seemed to have calmed a bit, or perhaps just begun to give up, his arms relaxed between the attempts to escape that were becoming less and less frequent and the sounds from him no longer words but small noises of distress.  His earlier unease had been nowhere near as extreme, and she supposed a greater hurt likely required a greater solution.

She chanced a look towards the others, most of whom had turned their attention away in what she assumed was some attempt at respect for his privacy, but Angela was still watching, her eyes turned in an uneasy gaze to Winston, who seemed to be struggling with his own internal thoughts.  Lena stood next to him with a deep crease on her brow as she lowered her eyes to the ground.  There was no escaping it, but really, she supposed the others didn’t really matter.  Satya closed the distance cautiously and still with a bit of hesitance, eyeing Jamison carefully as she approached in the hopes that his expression might give her something, anything to try to read other than his obvious unrest.

His eyes were half-lidded but still gleaming in the light, pointed downward, his body absolutely covered in a film of red dirt, dried blood under his nostril and at his upper lip, dust and soot and singed bits in his hair and he was just barely within reach as she found a place in front of him, attempting to ignore the way Roadhog’s head tipped to the side behind Jamison’s shoulder, his topknot bobbing in unspoken inquisitiveness.  She had to have been within Jamison’s sight but he had given her no reaction so she paused, her jaw setting in a determination that she tried to keep out of her voice.

“Jamie?”

She didn’t hear the breath of air but she saw it in the way his nostrils flared gently and his entire body went limp in Roadhog’s hold and he raised his eyes slowly to her own.  She could read nothing in his features under the overwhelming misery and she stumbled on it, faltered for a moment where she stood before swallowing her hesitation and bringing her hands up to either side of his face to curl them tentatively around the curve of his jaw, her fingers leaving tracks in the dirt on his face.

It wasn’t hard once she had started to ignore the presence of the others and she pressed her lips against his carefully and deliberately, staying there for a long moment, not expecting him to respond and not being surprised when he didn’t.

When she opened her eyes to look at him he was staring back, but it wasn’t what she had hoped to see.  It wasn’t anything like she had seen before.  His body had gone nearly slack but there was no sense of peace there, only a devastated furrow etched into his forehead, his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes suddenly glassy and she knew it was bad, perhaps worse even than if she had done nothing at all and she swallowed heavily, already dreading it before he spoke.  It was worst, she thought, the way his voice wavered and then cracked, his gaze focused squarely on her own.

“That’s a dirty trick.”

The words and the way his voice broke shot through her and her eyes widened in a pain she didn’t fully understand and could not possibly have prepared for.  The confusion in her had to have been obvious, even with the overwhelming dismay that buried her voice under enough weight to leave it as something low and quiet.  “… it’s not a trick.” 

“You just want me to stop actin’ funny.  Like before.”  In the hangar.  When she had kissed him.  An experiment in some ways, but done with the best intentions.  Meant to comfort him, but she realized that perhaps he was partially right.  His voice had been small and quiet and full of pain and she knew quite suddenly, without a doubt, that it would do her no good to argue but she did it anyway, desperately needing him to understand.

“That is not what I was doing.”

There was a chance for her to elaborate, a pause, but she stood there instead with shallowed breath and stared back at him with widening eyes as she realized she would not be able to gather the words to do so.  It could have been something simple.  It could likely have been anything, but nothing came.

From her position she could still see Roadhog, the impassive mask silent, almost like he was holding his breath, and his head tipped to the side gently and angled itself towards the back of Jamison’s head.  His voice sounded oddly quiet and resigned.  Kind.  It was something she hadn’t heard before and she wished she hadn’t now.  “Come on, Fawkes.  Let’s go.”

Jamison had finally gone limp, his shoulders sunk between Roadhog’s arms and his head lowered, his eyes pointed downward again and the tension in his jaw nearly dissipated despite his still-gritted teeth.  Roadhog lowered him to the ground where his foot found a shaky purchase, the peg leg hovering awkwardly above it before he pressed it tentatively down into the dirt and shifted his weight as the larger Junker let him go and as his arms were freed he ran the length of his forearm under his nose as if to wipe some of the dried blood away, a quiet sniff escaping him.  He didn’t look at them and none of them said a word as the two Junkers made their way to the ship, Torbjörn moving carefully out of the way so as not to block their path.

No one spoke, not immediately.  No one said anything about what had just happened, about the words exchanged between herself and Jamie, let alone the kiss itself, and it was a long moment before Winston broke the quiet with a murmur that made him sound troubled.

“I’m sorry you all had to see that.  Or… I’m sorry it happened.”  His shoulders dropped with a deep sigh and he lifted a large hand off of the ground to rub the fur on top of his own head, a thoughtful motion that he carried out slowly as if he were focusing intently on the task, his eyes on the ground.  He seemed to have no better idea of what to do than the rest of them, but he looked toward Lena in her spot at his side and she offered him a faint, guarded smile and the both of them lifted their eyes in tandem toward the desert where the bounty hunter and Thompson had gone, nothing but a plume of dust as they made their way back across the desert to suggest they had ever been there at all.

The silence finally caught his attention and Winston looked back to them, replacing his hand on the ground and pushing himself up to stand up straight on all fours.  Something needed to be said, and though he sounded hesitant about the words he got through them anyway in a voice that was still subdued and tentative.  “I think things will be better once we get back to the base.  For now it might be best to just give them their space.”  His eyes shifted back to Lena before he blinked and collected Jamison’s frag launcher from where it had been dropped on the ground, slipping his large arm through the shoulder strap and slinging it back over his body where it settled uneasily, not quite meant to be worn by someone so big.  “We’ll skip Junkertown for now.  They can wait.  How about we get to Sydney where we can all get cleaned up, then Lena and I will come back with a few others to patch things up here.”  No one objected when he raised his eyes for approval and he offered a brisk nod to no one in particular.  “Alright, then.  Load up your things.  Lena will bring the transport ship back around.  Let’s aim to be in the air in ten minutes.”

She stood in silence as the others went into motion around her, Winston and Lena moving toward the transport ship and Reinhardt and Torbjörn retreating into the drop ship slowly.  It felt like all she could do was stare off into the nothingness of the desert in front of her, as though her mind was too preoccupied with trying to gather thoughts she couldn’t quite catch while she was simultaneously trying to push them away, but whatever spell she’d fallen under was broken when a thin hand pressed carefully down on her shoulder.  She turned her head to look at it for a moment without comprehending but then lifted her eyes to Angela where she stood at Satya’s side.

“Satya.”  The woman’s voice was quiet, meant to gain her attention as gently as possible, and Satya’s eyebrows raised, pinching together at their inner corners.  She felt her jaw tense as she tried to bring it all under control as the woman continued.  “Do you have anything you need help loading onto the ship?”

It took a slow breath and a hard swallow before she could speak, her eyes darting away as she did so.  “No.”  She wasn’t just asking about helping her load her things, that much Satya knew, but she couldn’t find anything else to say so she simply raised her hand to Angela’s own and pulled it away from her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before she released it and hoping it would be enough.

Angela smiled in her pleasant way and somehow managed to make it look convincing before she turned away and retreated as well, disappearing into the shadows of the drop ship.  Satya was the only one left.  The idea of seeing them all was suddenly overwhelming, as if being confined in the small space with all of them was too heavy and she felt it crushing her chest, making her breath tight, and the more she tried to fight against it the harder it held her.  She wasn’t claustrophobic.  She knew it wasn’t that.  Whatever had happened had brought too many things to life and the ship would be full them, all of the emotions of the other teammates and all of the reminders of this mission and everything far too new for her to deal with all at once. 

And the knowledge that she had failed, utterly and crushingly, and the strangest part was it wasn’t her own hurt that felt the worst.

She breathed carefully, determined to bring it all back under control.  And it worked, slowly.  She only had to maintain it for the next few hours until they hit Sydney, where she was certain the opportunity to clean up would soothe at least some of the rawness she felt, regardless of anything else.  She made her way back to the ship.

It was cool and dark and quiet, something that would have surprised her under other circumstances.  The engines had already resumed their low, comforting hum.

Jamison and Roadhog were seated at the end of the row toward the back of the ship, Roadhog taking the inner seat, the girth of his body acting as a physical barrier shielding Jamison, for the most part, from view.  She glanced at him only briefly and saw him bent over, his weight pulling at the belt securing him to the seat and his elbows on his knees, his fingers woven tightly into the hair of his lowered head, the whole of him perfectly still.  Something tugged at her stomach hard enough to make her wince, but she gathered herself and forced it down as she found her own seat and carefully buckled herself in.

Three hours of absolute silence in a ship full of tension, exhaustion, and discomfort, and the worst part was she would have to spend it with her own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt very… delicate. I hope it’s worked, ultimately. Sorry for any language redundancies but it’s like 40k words long so also deal with it I guess? This is one of my weaknesses, I admit. I also hope the action sequences are follow-able.
> 
> If it means anything I listened a lot to [The Chainsmokers - Don't Let Me Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Io0fBr1XBUA) while writing this one
> 
> A few things:
> 
> Sorry Satya, not everything can be fixed with kisses. But also, sorry for all that wasted effort trying to keep it all secret, and also sorry that you had to kiss him when he was potentially the most filthy he has ever been.
> 
> I may have done a few things that people don’t like here, but we’ll see. I headcanon Jamie as pretty heavily ADHD and I figure he’s got to have PTSD, which doesn’t come without consequences. I also think Satya’s history/autism doesn’t come without consequences and I tried to keep both of those things in mind here.
> 
> I really hope I haven’t made anyone out to be the bad guy here except, you know, the bad guy. I feel really bad for all of them so the real bad guy here is me.
> 
> I think Jamie is a frustrated cryer. Sue me. But also a quiet one, because you can’t be too loud crying someplace like Junkertown.
> 
> Coming back wasn’t easy for Roadhog either but it’s harder to tell with him and he still had a job to do, after all. I feel like his trying to keep Jamie safe (in whatever ways necessary) is one of the things that probably grounds him the best, actually, even if he doesn’t show it. There’s more things like that now that he’s with Overwatch though and I think he realizes/is grateful for that, which is part of the reason he’s not going to go so far as to jeopardize it by letting Jamie punch Winston in the face. I mean, it’s for Jamie’s own good too anyway but still.
> 
> I figure people have tried pretty much every approach to get Jamie to tell them where/what his treasure is, not limited to threatening physical harm. Take from that what you will.
> 
> Sorry for the hand-wavey radiation stuff but if Fallout can do it then so can I.
> 
> I like to think it was around 7-8 years old where both Satya and Jamison’s lives change dramatically in diametrically opposed ways. Jamison went from a fairly nice life (if a little tentative/uncertain from the war) in a nice little home with a nice little family to an irradiated hellscape and Satya went from a squalid slum to the relative haven of Vishkar (even with all the horrible things that came with that).
> 
> In Jamie’s defense it’s probably pretty hard to drive with a peg leg and manual transmission
> 
> Also what it’s worth I think Jamie was probably right. If they’d played nice and done the arenas deal simple-like it probably would’ve played out pretty much like he figured. It’s hard to say though, it’s just a bad situation. PSA though he can be somewhat of an unreliable narrator.
> 
> Despite the angsty end of this chapter considering what happened in the car chase I like to think Satya consistently one-ups herself on Jamie’s ‘the most turned on I have ever been in my life’ list
> 
> Yes, Angela has been using Jamie as a human guinea pig.
> 
> Winston, despite the whole primal rage thing, has the patience of a saint when it comes to people who matter.
> 
> At the end Jamie is being a little unfair but those things don't go unaddressed. REPERCUSSIONS EVERYWHERE
> 
> Also there was a lot of foreshadowing can you spot it. Also symbolism. Symbolism and parallels everywhere.
> 
> I also hope it doesn’t seem as though Satya is the only one doing the heavy lifting in this relationship so far, but if I have made it seem that way that should be pretty thoroughly remedied in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading, the sun will come out tomorrow and all that!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes things just get worse before they get better, y’know? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The flight back to Sydney was painfully uneventful.  Both Junkers remained completely silent for the first half or so of it, no sound coming from their direction save for the occasional wheeze from behind Roadhog’s mask but something else began to build slowly, gradually from their corner until it was just audible over the sound of the drop ship's engines, a muffled and rapidly-repeating _thud-thud-thud-thud_ that became persistent and impossible for her to ignore.  She made the mistake of glancing toward it and while much of Jamison’s body was out of sight it wasn’t difficult to determine the source of it: the heel of a booted foot repeatedly bouncing against the floor. 

Jamison remained pitched forward for the entirety of the journey.  She knew because she glanced in his direction far too regularly only to find him curled tighter each time and rather than continue to torment herself she finally forced herself to look at the opposite wall of the drop ship instead where there was a convenient gap in the seats that allowed her to trace the straps and the seams and the bolts in the ship’s metal frame.

It wasn’t much better.  It was hard to think with the cadence of tapping a soundtrack, too loud to ignore once she had noticed it.  Each time her mind circled back around to what had happened—the words Jamison had said, mostly, and the look on his face—it threatened to draw too much emotion from her and paint something far too expressive on her features and so she pushed the thoughts back despite their persistence in trying to occupy the forefront of her mind.  It was difficult and exhausting and required a good deal of attention to her pulse, but she managed to mitigate it somewhat by trying to concentrate instead, when the thoughts did come, on everything that had happened _before_.  Before things seemed quite so disastrous.  She traced the lines back carefully, tiptoeing along the memories, trying to cement them and piece them together.  Sitting at the side of the disabled vehicle in the sparse shade at Jamison’s side, his prosthetic hand a mildly comforting presence wound against hers.  The scant things they both had said of Vishkar—another thought she brushed cautiously to the side.  Things had seemed stable in that moment.  A bit miserable for the both of them—herself hot and dirty and injured and him still seeming slightly ill at ease—but stable all the same.

The arrival of the others with the transport ship had grounded things and steadied her and she had thought him as well, the relief that everyone was alright and the ordeal was over doing a great deal to soothe her discomfort despite the dirt still caked under her nails and the sweat in her hair.

The question was where she had gone so terribly wrong.  The kiss, obviously, but she had clearly missed something, some signal that she should have chosen a different course.  Perhaps she simply hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t had the energy to focus, or hadn’t been able to process his sudden change in demeanor quickly enough to make a better decision.   Perhaps it wasn’t a single point at all, a solitary signal that, had she caught it, she could have avoided the catastrophe.  Perhaps his reaction hadn’t been only because of the kiss.  Perhaps she had missed far more than she had realized.

She found herself too exhausted to analyze or fight it and resigned herself to the fact that she would simply be at the mercy of whatever idle negative thoughts drifted through her mind accompanied by that constant, repeating tap until something could be done about her physical state.

It was still light when they arrived at the Overwatch satellite base in Sydney but the sun was sinking lower between the angles of the high-rises blocking out neat, even chunks of the horizon, leaving a good deal of the city already in shadow.  The base was a small facility, a hub meant to provide some serviceable home of operations during the omnic crisis, not really meant for extended stays or to house nine very dirty, exhausted individuals, but there were bunks (somewhat stiff from disuse) and showers (granted, only two) and it was more secure than any other options they had and the lights of the hangar flickered on as they exited the ship, Athena illuminating the monitors to offer them a pleasant greeting.

Neither of the Junkers had moved as the rest of the team had shuffled out after collecting only the basics of what they needed, most of them more interested in settling in than anything else, and although a few of the team members lingered uneasily at the base of the ramp they soon dispersed to familiarize themselves with the base, with Athena’s help.  Angela had said it might be best to give them some space anyway.  It did seem like it would do little good to pressure either of them to interact.

The team was gracious enough to let Satya use one of the showers first.  Courtesy didn’t allow her as much time as she would have liked—it was often easier to think in the shower, it seemed, with the feel of the water a steady but gentle pressure pattering against her scalp—but emerging from it clean was a balm nonetheless.  Her uniform had been utterly and completely ruined, the extensive tear in the fabric making the bloodstain and the dirt a moot point, and so she slipped into the spare one she had brought, a vibrant orange.

Food proved to be somewhat of an issue.  It was surprising that they found someone to deliver and it was a thought that brought her some amusement even with the undercurrent of unease that clung to her.  Describing the address was apparently an ordeal.  Pizza wasn’t exactly a favorite but it would have to do, and so with the insufficiently sized dining area they settled in the briefing room instead, boxes scattered haphazardly across the table as they all took care of the basic need of eating with no particular enthusiasm.  But it was enough to bring conversation slowly back and that may have been better than the food itself, perhaps moreso with everyone happy to be pointedly avoiding any specifics of the past day.

The Junkers, to no one’s surprise, didn’t join them. 

Sleep was next on the list of items required to make herself feel fully human again and everyone else seemed to have the same agenda so they all shuffled off to their respective bunks, leaving abundant leftovers on the briefing room table in the hopes that Jamison and Roadhog might eventually emerge and make good use of them.

She settled into her bunk in the small room she shared with Lena and the base went quiet save for the gentle hum of the electrical and ventilation systems and it was easy enough in the cool dark under the weight of exhaustion to start drifting off even with the stray feelings of a vague, anxious kind of discomfort, feelings that faded into the background of a dreamless sleep.  It wasn’t perfectly restful, but it was rest nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

They regrouped in the morning at Athena’s beckoning over the base’s communication system and each of them trickled in to the briefing room at varying stages of disarray, Satya having managed, at least, to comb her hair straight and press the wrinkles out of her uniform.  The briefing room was exactly as they had left it, pizza and all.  It wasn’t particularly heartening.

No one seemed interested in staying in Sydney any longer than necessary, all of them eager to return to Gibraltar and some sense of normalcy, and Winston wasted no time in going through a short briefing of what the agenda for the day was as the rest of the team collected the pizza boxes and threw them away, Satya wrinkling her nose in distaste at the leftover pieces in the boxes.

“We’ll get Junkertown cleaned up and then we’ll head back to Gibraltar.  It’ll be a long trip but I think it’s probably best to get home as quickly as possible given the information we have to look through.”

It was a relief to hear but the emotion didn’t last long as he continued. 

“Athena—where are Jamison and Mako?”

The response from Athena came immediately, leaving Satya and the others no time to prepare for it.  “Unfortunately I can’t find any indication that they’re on base.”  The voice paused and Satya’s pulse jumped, a wave of anxiety moving through her and briefly drowning her ability to concentrate.  Her attention snapped back abruptly as Athena continued.  “From my records, it looks as though they may have left the facility at approximately 3:48 a.m. last night.  I apologize, I somehow seem to have missed their departure.”

There was an uneasy pause as the team looked between each other.

“And you have no indication of them returning?”

“I’m afraid not.”

The gorilla’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh as he lifted a large hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it before readjusting his glasses.  “Alright.  Well.  Change of plans.”  There was a pause as he considered.  “We’ll take a smaller group.  Junkertown shouldn’t take long anyway and we’ll be back by evening.  Hopefully they’ll be back by then as well and we can just get home.  Let’s see…”

Satya felt a brief flash of dread as Winston looked between all of them with the obvious intent of picking out who was to go back.  There were conflicting emotions there.  She wasn’t certain she wanted or was prepared to return to Junkertown, at least not so soon, but a strange, small part of her suggested that perhaps it would be better.  It would give her the chance to help.  She wasn’t certain if it would be better or worse as a way to distract her mind.  Of course, regardless of who went what needed to be done would be completed, so her presence wasn’t strictly needed, but the feeling was still there all the same.  She didn’t have the time to agonize over it.

“Angela, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, Brigitte… we can all head out.  That’s plenty of manpower.  Lena, Satya, keep an eye on the base in the meantime.  Hopefully Jamison and Mako will be back soon.”  He didn’t say it with any particular conviction, but brushed the comment aside and looked at them more closely.  Kindly, she thought.  “If you do decide to go off-base just keep a low profile, alright?”

Lena answered for the both of them.  “Sure thing, big guy.”

There was little more to say.  It wasn’t long before the arrangements had been made and everyone had collected what they needed and Satya and Lena joined the rest of them in the hangar, intent to see them off.  They backed away as the others disappeared onto the drop ship, the engines starting with a low roar as the aperture opened above them and flooded the hangar with sunlight bright enough despite the early hour that it hurt Satya’s eyes.  Neither of them looked at each other while Lena spoke, watching the ship instead as it lifted upward and pitched slowly into the sky, Lena’s voice bright as ever as it carried above the retreating sound of the engines.

“How about we get out of here, maybe get something to eat?  I’m sure Athena can suggest some good places.”

Satya took a thoughtful moment.  It couldn’t hurt.  And while they could buy groceries she didn’t particularly want to do anything to imply they would be there for an extended stay.  Besides, getting off base, eating something nice in a pleasant location would likely serve as a good and sorely-needed diversion.  “Yes.  That would be nice.”

They watched for a moment longer before the aperture began its slow slide shut and glanced toward one-another and retreated back into the base.

 

* * *

 

Satya and Lena sat outside a nice little café under the shade of an umbrella, the heat of the day not having crept in yet given the earliness of the hour.  Keeping a low profile dictated wearing civilian clothing and they had each brought a pair.  The team always did for just such occasions, or at least, for similar ones.  The Junkers were the sole exception.  They never seemed interested in a change of clothes.  In reality she supposed there was little point in changing to something clean when the vast majority of your life had been spent somewhere you would simply immediately get dirty again.  It wasn’t something she agreed with, but at least she felt as if she understood.  It also explained, she supposed, Jamison’s reticence to shower for the first month or two she had been at Overwatch.

Satya didn’t have much of an appetite, opting simply for a cup of tea and a bowl of fruit.  They had been mostly silent save for the occasional idle comment, and she spent the time trying to gather her thoughts and find some kind of solid ground to stand on.  Lena may have noticed and kept quieter than usual.  Regardless of the reason, Satya was grateful for it. 

She was picking through the melons with a fork, far too absorbed in it, enough so that she didn’t notice what Lena was doing until she heard her voice and the words made her jump, jarring her back to reality.

“Junkrat?  Roadhog?  Come in.” 

Even just their names put the grip of misery in her chest and she winced against it, trying to will it away with marginal success.  It wouldn’t do to linger on it, not when there was so little they could do.

The other woman must have noticed Satya’s surprise, at least, and if she noticed anything else she was too polite to say anything; Lena lifted her head, the comm device still at her ear, and her eyes widened, her features soft with the apology.  “Oh.  Sorry, love.  I just thought it might be worth trying to get in contact with them.”

“No… that’s fine.  I suppose my mind was just elsewhere.”  Lena smiled.  Satya allowed her eyes to drift back down to the bowl in front of herself as the other woman tried again, her brow furrowing as she considered the fruit, her teeth working at the inside of her cheek in thought.

“Junkrat.  Roadhog.  Tracer calling.”

Satya couldn’t help it—she lifted her gaze as if by looking at the device she might be able to better hear it.  The both of them sat in silence for a moment, listening intently as Lena withdrew the device from her ear, each of them watching it in her hand.  There was no response.  Satya’s voice came hesitantly.  She wasn’t even certain she wanted to broach the topic, to discuss the reality of the situation at all, but she couldn’t really help herself.

“Do they even have their comm devices?”

“No way for us to really know, I’m sure, but it seems worth a try.”

“Mm.”  The sound was doubtful, less so because she thought that Lena was wrong and more simply trying to keep her thoughts away from it.  Perhaps Lena misread the situation, offering assurances that only served to keep Satya’s mind on the topic.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

Satya’s hand wrapped around the cup of tea, her fingertips pressing against it idly, the warm, smooth surface serving as only a slight distraction.  Her voice was muted in thought.  “Yes.  I certainly hope so.”

There were unspoken things there and she could feel it heavy between them, but Lena didn’t press.  It set Satya’s mind racing anyway.  She went silent as Lena set the communication device down on the table between them, resting her elbow on the table, her chin on a loosely-closed fist.  A sigh pursed her lips and sent a puff of air upward, lifting her bangs and putting them in slight disarray before she spoke, determined, it seemed, to talk about something else.

“Junkertown could have gone better.”

It was such a blunt, obvious statement and it caught her so off guard that Satya laughed—a quiet and bemused chuckle.  It brought with it a strange kind of relief out of her exhaustion, even if it was only temporary.  Lena returned it with a smile.  “To put it lightly.”  If nothing else it cleared her mind of other things and she was surprisingly grateful for it, and it seemed to clear Lena’s mood as well, making her seem more like her typical self.  It was comfortable.  Familiar.

“It might have been easier if Jamison hadn’t blown up that building.  Although, really, I’m not sure.”

As much as she would have liked to avoid the topic Satya looked more closely at her with a gently narrowed eye, surprised at the statement.  She had thought… well, she wasn’t entirely sure what she had thought.  She was torn on the issue herself but supposed she had no real way of knowing; she didn’t have enough information to go on.  What did surprise her was that the others were apparently still uncertain as well.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, things weren’t going terribly well when I caught up with them.  Maybe it’s better that he shook things up.  Even if it did seem like he… well.  Panicked, a bit.”  The other woman’s shoulders lifted in a shrug as she sat up in her seat, taking a deep breath and releasing it as a sigh.  “Still, it might have been a lost cause if he hadn’t.”

There was a note of hesitation in her voice, but Satya pressed through it anyway.  “To be perfectly honest, it made me uneasy.”

“There wasn’t really a perfect solution.”

“Mm.”  It was a sound of agreement, even if it was a little noncommittal.  At any rate, it felt like all she could manage.  She opted for a drink of tea instead of elaboration as Lena went on.

“All in all I guess it wasn’t so bad.  We got what we came for, anyway.  So it’s a net positive.”  She didn’t address the fact of the Junkers absence and Satya was happy not to have to think about it.

“What was it, anyway?  The results of… what we came for.  Or are you not at liberty to say.”

“Hm?  Oh.”  Lena shifted in her chair, her eyes briefly flitting over the setting, the other patrons, the people walking along on the sidewalk.

“… can we talk about it here?”

Lena’s eyes returned to her as she shrugged and leaned forward a bit again.  “I think we’re fine, so long as we keep our voices down.  We won’t talk about any details.  I’m sure Winston’s briefing everyone else on the ride over, anyway.”  Still, she scooted forward on her chair before going on.  “The good news is that we know that we were right and we have some more solid leads to follow up on.”

Satya raised an eyebrow.  “And the bad news?”

“The bad news is there’s every indication that there are some major corporations gunning for us.  Funding all of those attacks through various channels.  Companies that seem legitimate.”  Satya watched the other woman closely, following the mild look of concern on her face.  “It’s hard not to wonder what they’re up to, if they’re worried about us.  What they might be trying to hide.” 

The statement took her off guard, the familiarity of the thought pulling an unexpected wave of emotions from her.  Satya took in a sharp breath and it caught in her chest, her thoughts scattering along different avenues all at once, and she had no doubt that the spike of something like dread showed on her face.  Lena seemed to notice and spoke quickly but calmly all the same, firm and pleasant even given the topic.

“Nothing to do with Vishkar.  We’re sure of it.  It wouldn’t make much sense, anyway.”

The feeling in her chest loosened slightly.  Lena was right, but it didn’t change the deep unease that she felt.  Even if Vishkar wasn’t involved it was still a reminder, one that spurred a strange, sharp pain as she looked back down to her breakfast without seeing it.  The thought occurred to her that it wasn’t beyond them, something like that.  Attempting to undermine an organization like Overwatch as a way of self-preservation.  The idea that she had directly helped in similar efforts—Vishkar’s contentedness with manipulating local authorities for money, destroying people’s homes, _killing_ people—regardless of her intent—was a bit too much to handle and she closed her eyes, trying to rid her mind of it.

They weren’t behind the attacks on Overwatch but it wasn’t as though it wasn’t something they would do.  And she had defended them against Jamison even just a day ago, even if indirectly and unintentionally.  It was a sinking, dreadful feeling that she pressed her eyes more tightly shut against.  Lena’s voice cut through it all and brought her back.

“We’ll have to figure out a way to hit back.  Figuring out some of their secrets, probably, bringing them to international attention.  Or at least scaring them a bit.”  Satya breathed carefully, in and out, focusing on Lena’s words.  “We’ll likely need more of your help for that.”

Information gathering.  Infiltration.  That she could do.  And applied to something good, for once, unequivocally.  It lifted some of the weight.

“At any rate we still have a lot to look into.  There’s not much sense in worrying about it until we can get back to base and look at things more closely.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

A quiet sank over them for a moment, the both of them back to their breakfast and their own thoughts, and the both of them likely focusing more on the latter.  She was saved, again, by Lena’s voice, brighter and determined as she broke the silence.

“Would you want to go somewhere?”

Satya lifted her head with an uncertain blink, somewhat disoriented and failing to grasp her meaning.

“Go see some of the sights, try to get our mind off things and keep busy.  I’m sure Athena will keep us updated on everything.”  Lena plucked the comm device up from the table and looped it over the curve of her ear as if to demonstrate, the small electronic inconspicuous and a bright smile on the woman’s face.

“That might be nice.”

“Maybe the opera house?  Ooh!  Or a beach!  If we’re stuck here we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

It was a good idea, one that Satya couldn’t deny despite her dampened mood, but her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, soft sound from Lena. 

“Oh, no.”  The words had come from her quietly but her stare was attentive, pointed over Satya’s head, and she turned instinctively in her seat to look as well.  It took her a moment to orient her attention to the television behind her, a ticker moving along the bottom of the screen, the lack of sound making it more difficult.  For a moment she wasn’t certain what she was seeing.  A video flickered to a halt too quickly for her to process what it was before it began again, running on a loop as the ticker ran under it, a newscaster inset over part of the screen obviously speaking despite the television’s lowered volume, impossible to hear.

The image was an empty room filled with machines and a mix of shadows and brightly flickering lights—an arcade, she recognized—clearly filmed at night, and within a moment a shadowed figure came into view on the screen moving a bit strangely, crouching at the front of a machine and jerking violently once or twice before a pile of coins spilled out onto the floor in front of it, glinting in the lights.  The figure plucked one or two of them from the floor as it straightened and looked as though it was about to turn fully back to the machine before pausing and turning its head in the direction of the camera, clearly looking at it before its head tipped slowly to the side.  There was another seconds’ pause before it started moving again toward the camera with that same strange gait, and it was only a moment before it was close enough for the camera to pick up the details of it, shifting it into focus.

It was Jamison, impossible not to recognize even in the strange, colorful light, blinking into the screen with an inquisitively narrowed eye.  There was a moment in which he did nothing but stare, but his lips began slowly curling upward in a sly, crooked grin, an expression that quickly became menacing as he lifted his hand and pointed a black nail toward the camera with his other fingers folded, holding the pose for a second before abruptly pulling the hand back, his lips moving in a silent sound, the gesture clearly meant to indicate the firing of a gun.

The expression morphed into a broad, pleased grin that still managed to look a bit vicious, wide enough to show his gold teeth and force his eyes nearly closed before his features pinched, his tongue stuck out and his eyes closed, and he raised his splayed hands to either side of his head, thumbs stuck in his ears in an unmistakably mocking pose.

Satya’s pulse jumped and her mind went blank, her stare moving over what little there was to take in and she pulled in a gasp of air, holding it without noticing.  His teeth cracked open in a gleeful, sharp-toothed laugh before something gripped his forearm—a large, black-nailed hand—and pulled him abruptly off-screen, his face on the monitor just long enough for his expression to register surprise before he was completely out of view.  The video stopped and flicked off of the screen, replaced by the newscaster’s face with Jamison’s and Roadhog’s mugshots beside it, and Satya turned to look toward Lena with widened eyes.

Lena’s gaze dropped abruptly from the screen back to Satya and the shared a silent moment in which neither of them seemed quite capable of verbalizing anything.  Lena spoke first.

“I think we should go back to base and speak with Athena.”

“Yes.”  Satya felt a bit breathless as she answered.  “Yes, I believe that’s a good idea.”

 

* * *

 

Satya and Lena stood in the briefing room, too restless to sit, their attention on the large screen.  The same video they had seen at the café had been playing, pausing when they asked Athena to do so, allowing them to take in a bit more detail, and Satya had been trying to monitor a complex mix of emotions at the same time, something that grew increasingly difficult each time the video looped.  She tried desperately to ignore the weight of dread that quickened her pulse for more productive things.  Worry was the most of it, an uneasiness she hadn’t been able to shake since Junkertown but only made far worse as the day had gone on.  Anger was there as well, quiet, buried underneath other things, but she recognized it all the same.  She couldn’t, however, quite pinpoint why and it frustrated her when she tried to decipher it.  She concentrated on the video instead.

Even in the dim lighting she should have recognized him immediately, even when he was nothing but a shadow, if only because of the way that he moved, the shape of his prosthetic arm caught in silhouette, the thin physique when his body unfurled away from the machine.  Perhaps the idea of him in such a state had simply become unfathomable.  Perhaps she’d gotten so used to him in other, more pleasant contexts that seeing him on a security camera was too alien, at first, for her to recognize.

His behavior, the expression on his face didn’t make it any easier.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen it before but it had felt so foreign.  It had made it feel like there was an insurmountable distance there, suddenly.  It set a hard feeling in her stomach.

But it was undeniable, of course, even the blatant staring into the camera aside.  He was still in his harness, sans canisters, by all appearances unarmed.  That, at least, was a relief.  Athena had acquired another video from a different angle and he had spent some time playing games before apparently losing interest, opting instead to start punching the screens until Roadhog appeared and abruptly dragged him off camera and out of the building.  There had been something concerning in the way his actions had been punctuated by occasional fits of laughter that bent his body.  In the way he bounded energetically from one point to another.  The way his movements twitched.

It was a small relief as well to know that Roadhog was with him, although she wouldn’t have assumed otherwise.  It was a comfort nonetheless, not much of one, but she would take what she could get.

Lena brought her back to the preset as she addressed Athena.

“Do you have anything else?”

“One moment.”  A second or two passed as Athena scanned through all the available information she had collected, digging into surveillance and broadcasts and pulling up what she could find.  Her voice was apologetic when it came back.  “I’m afraid not.  Apparently officials have found nothing at the scene to help locate them.  I estimate our odds on finding them from this information alone is low.”

It was disheartening, but Satya wasn’t particularly surprised.  If they had broken in overnight and if they had any sense they’d be long gone, tucked away somewhere no doubt, in hiding.  She was only surprised and a little dismayed that they hadn’t come back, and one faintly comforting idea was that, perhaps now that they’d been on the news, they might make the decision to retreat to the base.  It seemed worth betting on.  And it seemed worth another try at contacting them.

But they didn’t receive any response, not any of the times they tried, and by mid-day other information had begun trickling in, none of it particularly good.  The Junkers had been caught on camera robbing an ice cream truck.  By afternoon they had apparently stolen a car, if an anonymous victim was to be believed, and there was a single, blurry photo that was nonetheless clearly them at a theme park.

They had changed clothes at some point and appeared in tanktops and jeans that did little to make them less distinguishable.  Their ability to hide in plain sight, to be recognized yet uncapturable was preternatural.  It fueled Satya’s sense of frustration and bled into her tone as she and Lena sat in the briefing room for the fourth time since morning.

“How on earth haven’t they been caught yet?  They’re not even remotely inconspicuous.”

Lena’s voice was uncharacteristically dry as she answered.  “Trust me, that’s something we tried to figure out for months before we recruited them.”

Satya huffed a breath of air that was a mixture of irritation and exasperation.  It was all she could manage.  Lena picked up the slack.

“Well, at least they haven’t done _too_ much damage.  And it looks like Mako is trying to keep him under control.”  The other woman heaved a deep sigh.  “I’m not sure what to do really, until Winston gets back.  We could comb the city, of course, but there’s not enough of us to do anything thorough and if the authorities haven’t caught them yet I’m not sure what our chances are.”  She sounded somewhat doubtful as she continued.  “We could just… keep calling them.”

Satya tried to mitigate the frown that overtook her without success and looked back down to the communication device in her hand, her thumb running thoughtfully over the earpiece as she considered it.  It felt helpless, really, sitting at base, unable to do much at all to track him down, and certainly unable to dissuade him from doing anything unwise.  “Yes… of course.”

“I guess we’ll just set regular intervals to try to contact them.  Every hour would probably be fine.  The others should be back soon and Winston might have better ideas on what to do.”  Lena’s features took on a frown of her own, a rare expression.  “I hope he doesn’t do anything too rash.  We’ve got enough fires to put out as it is.  At any rate we’ll keep an eye on anything we find.  Let me know if you want to look around the city again, just in case.”

Satya offered Lena a silent nod before finding her voice.   “Thank you, Lena.”

The other woman returned it with a smile.  “Of course, love.”

She wasn’t particularly interested in staying, in being surrounded by more images of Jamison and Mako—uncomfortable reminders of how real the situation was—so she slipped out of the room, pausing once outside the door to close her eyes and take a long, slow breath.  Moving would help, not standing still, and she opened her eyes and started her way down the hallway.  It took up some of her time, wandering around the base idly, but there weren’t many places to go.  The base was small and repeating the pattern of her steps began to agitate her thoughts and she found herself feeling increasingly helpless, an emotion that quickly began to erode at the barrier that she had carefully built to hold her feelings back.

Lena’s voice came reliably through the comm device in her hand in a call to the Junkers, indicating that Satya had managed, at least, to burn away an hour.  Each one went far too slowly.  She opted to try watching television but her mind kept returning to the device and the uneasy feeling that came with it, and the avoidance made it no better. 

She wasn’t interested in letting the hopelessness and distress built just below the surface out; she wasn’t certain how well she’d be able to control them once they were. 

She just wanted them back.   Not even for her sake, she thought.  She wanted the team to be together.  She wanted Junkertown erased, she wanted things back to normal, she wanted to not have seen his anger or betrayal or hurt or heard what he’d said.  _A dirty trick._

She paused her thoughts and stared forward down the hallway, the lights dimmed and the place feeling empty and barren.  Perhaps that _was_ a bit for her sake.  Perhaps, actually, that desire was almost entirely for herself. 

Angela had said before the mission that it might be difficult for Jamison.  Had asked her to be supportive.  The problem was she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.  The thought made her grip the comm device more tightly.  Eventually she lifted it and slipped it over the curve of her ear, her finger pressing gently on the button to transmit a signal, but her tongue faltered over the words, not certain what she even wanted to say, and she paused for too long before hastily taking the device away from her ear, folding it back in her fist instead.

She slipped the device into her pocket.  Perhaps it was best for it to stay there until she could organize her thoughts and come up with something better to say. ~~~~

 

* * *

 

Jamison had been feeling a bit out of sorts.

For the first day after landing in Sydney and leaving the drop ship everything was a bit of a blur.  It was hard enough to remember the ride over—it was filled with a mad rush of thoughts that moved too quickly for him to catch and it all built up to the point where he thought he might burst but then they were suddenly shuffling off of the ship into an empty hangar and the joints of his hands felt stiff and bent and his scalp hurt from the way they had stayed stubbornly gripping his hair.  Once he’d exited the drop ship all that was clear was the trip to his and Roadhog’s bunk, the shower afterwards, the way his skin had felt raw and wrong without the dirt and his hair had felt too thin and uncontrollable, and the way the harness had felt too light on his chest without the grenades he had brought with them.  There had been no time to refill the ammo canisters, or if there had, he hadn’t done it anyway.  His mind must have been somewhere else. 

At some point they snuck out and that, at least, was perfectly clear.  Sitting still hadn’t been an option and sleep was out of the question given the previous day and the hours spent on the flight to Sydney, immobile.  He could remember the night air, humid but still cooler by far than the Outback and a good reminder that he wasn’t _there_ anymore, as if the bright lights of the city and the shadows of the outlines of the skyscrapers weren’t enough.  It had to have been late.  There weren’t many cars on the road or people on the street to get in their way, allowing him the freedom to go wherever he wanted.  Roadhog was there.  He knew that much, even if he wasn’t wearing the hook and there was only the heavy scuff of his boots without the jangling of the chain that usually accompanied it.  Still, even that was background noise.  All that he’d left the base with was the satchel full of explosives slung reliably at his side, mostly small things, nothing that could create too much of a boom.  Nothing like in Junkertown.  It left him feeling a little uncomfortable.

The problem was there wasn’t anything to _do_ , not with everything closed at any rate, and all of the wandering around was boring with the quiet of the place and his head still felt like it was too full.  It was too peaceful.  A strange, seething anger had started to take advantage of the lack of distraction, he could feel it burning around the edges, and he tried to remedy it with a mine but Roadie caught him with his hand in the satchel and made him put it away, something that left him feeling sullen and irritable.  They passed an arcade—closed, of course—but it wasn’t too hard to play the same trick, shove his hand in the bag, pretend he had something in in it and mimic tossing the nothingness down the street, Hog’s attention following it just long enough for Jamison to break in the window.  It took two hits and put an ache in the end of his right arm but it was worth it.  All the bright lights and the promise of some noise had been too alluring to pass up and besides, there wasn’t much harm in it.  Until he started breaking the machines, anyway.

Roadie hadn’t been too happy about that.  He only got a few swings in before the larger Junker dragged him out.  Maybe he shouldn’t have done it but it got rid of the worst of it at least.

The sun came up at some point, too bright in a cloudless sky.  It was Hog’s suggestion that they pick up new clothes and it was a good one, so despite how strange it felt it wasn’t long before he’d put down the credits for a tank top and jeans for himself and a similar outfit for Roadhog and they’d re-entered the open air of the city looking reasonably different, maybe even almost presentable, notable prosthetics and mask and size aside.

Unfortunately the new clothes didn’t help make things seem any less surreal.  Things had started boiling off enough that the anger was more of an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach and not something he couldn’t get out of his field of vision but instead of it being there there was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on but he knew it felt wrong, somehow.

Hell, even Hog seemed a little out of the ordinary.  He kept not letting him _do_ things.  It was hard to keep track, but he remembered Hog taking his mines away, pulling him away from a fight, stopping him when he tried to light a firecracker in the middle of the sidewalk which, granted, he wasn’t sure what his plan was going to be after it was lit.

And he kept suggesting things.  Strange things.  Not things they usually did.  Watching a movie (too boring, too hard to focus—“Can’t do it, mate.”), shopping for things (“Why the bloody ‘ell would I wanna do that?”), throwing bread to the ducks in the harbor (“ _What?_   The bloody gulls’ll get after ya.”).  He had some good ideas, though.  Getting some boba—rolling the balls around on his tongue was nice—and hitting up a theme park, even if Roadhog did make him behave.  They rode a couple of rides but the lines were torture and once they saw security trailing them they ditched the place.

But everything seemed like it was coming through kind of a weird haze and he forgot it the minute it was over.  Sometimes when they went somewhere it felt like they’d already been there before.  He wasn’t sure what that was about.  He wasn’t sure if it was related, but a dull, uneasy sort of feeling had started creeping in whenever things got quiet so he doubled down on talking, something that Roadie didn’t seem to completely appreciate.

By the time it was dark again the world had started to feel a bit more solid and he wasn’t completely sure if he liked it, especially when the night hit that point where things started to get all quiet and empty and there wasn’t enough to keep him occupied.  Things had started to feel all wobbly.  Not as fun.  There was a bad feeling looming over him that wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, staying in the background, vague, even when he was doing other things.  It left him feeling haunted.  Nervous.

Luckily he was tired enough to sleep, for a few hours anyway, and it staved it off until the sun came up again.

The next day things started to come back together gradually and insistently like bits of cloth that had been pulled apart at the seams mending themselves, and he was abruptly back in the world with a full day he couldn’t really account for and an anxious feeling that kept trying to creep in that he pushed to the side each time it reared his head, which usually came when he caught the quiet, muffled sound of a voice from his pocket, something that happened every hour or so, someone calling on the communication device he’d opted to keep there rather than on his ear like he was supposed to.  It was always barely-audible, something that you’d miss unless you were listening for it.  Not that he was.   He was usually busy with something else, anyway.  It wasn’t like he couldn’t call them back later.

After things rearranged themselves in his head and he felt something like himself again he started thinking about what had happened.  It wasn’t something he really wanted to do but his mind kept coming back to it so he figured he didn’t have much choice.  Most of it was anger, a lingering feeling that was strong nonetheless and managed to sporadically bury more uncomfortable things.  Things he figured were better kept buried.  Worse, maybe, it came with an apprehension that put an ache in his chest that he couldn’t get rid of even when he tried.

It had left Jamison feeling frustrated and sullen and with few places he had the option of going.  And without stealing a car, fewer ways to get there.  Roadie turned down the idea that if they were going to bring it back it was technically only _borrowing_.  Jamison wasn’t actually that disappointed, which was a strange enough thing in itself.

It wasn’t too busy given the earliness of the hour but the train was still a bit cramped and uncomfortable and did nothing to lighten his mood but at the very least it was only a short trip before he and Roadhog were at the beach, piling out of with the rest of the beachgoers and spilling out onto the sand under the glare of a hot sun.

It was nice, sort of.  Better than being in the city anyway, and once he’d borrowed some towels and a beach umbrella for himself and Roadhog it was even better.  They posted up at a station a bit away from the water mixed in with the crowds, Jamison trudging through the sand unevenly with his peg leg and Roadhog doing most of the setting up and it wasn’t long  before Jamison was lying back, elbows bent behind him to prop him up on the towel, knee bent, peg leg propped up against it as he crossed his legs, his eyes pointed out to the waves behind a pair of sunglasses and the pleasant breeze moving gently through his hair.

It was quiet for a while.  Roadhog had never been much for conversation but Jamison wasn't feeling like it either and the sound of the waves and the gulls and the chattering of kids and other beachgoers was a good enough distraction that he ended up staring forward without seeing anything, mind perfectly blank, entirely failing to notice Roadhog was getting up until he was already on his feet.

“What’s up, mate?”

The large man cocked his head to the side, seeming to consider him for a moment, and then tossed his thumb over his shoulder toward the sea.  “Gonna hit the water.”

Jamison wasn’t too keen on the idea, himself, and with the way Roadhog had been acting he wasn’t too upset to be left alone.  “Ah.  Yeah, a’right.  Have fun.”

Roadhog didn’t move, though, and stood there looking at him for a while longer as Jamison stared back into the mask, his brow slowly furrowing and his eyes narrowing in growing annoyance.  His lips pursed together as he considered the larger Junker in kind and then abruptly waved him away.  “A’right then, get outta me face, mate.”  The large man rolled a careless shrug over his shoulders and turned to lumber toward the water and Jamison watched him go with his features still pinched and an annoyed mutter.  “Christ…”

It wasn’t long until Roadhog was out of earshot and Jamison was left on the beach towel, his mind drifting away from the interaction slowly but steadily, the gentle wind coming up from the water, the sound of waves and gulls not really doing much anymore to keep his attention away from all the other things.

He hadn’t really considered the fact that Roadhog leaving left him left him alone with his own thoughts.  Even if they hadn’t been talking it was worse without him there, and as things started to creep in his fingers developed an itch to fiddle with something to offset them and it was bad enough to pull him upward, a grunt dredged from his throat as he sat straight.  But he came up empty as he glanced around himself and saw nothing but sand.  It’d have to do. 

It was inadvisable but it didn’t matter; he buried his fingers in the grains and dredged up a pile of it into a mound but it was too dry to make a proper shape, let alone anything like a castle.  He fixed the failed structure with a disapproving look, lips pursed in an irritated pout and the attempt left sand in the creases of his metal fingers, grinding when he moved them, an uncomfortable, shuddering sensation accompanied by an equally harsh sound.  It would’ve been worth it if he could’ve made anything recognizable but as it stood the mound of sand in front of him was a disappointment and the grains stuck in his joints was a reminder of the failure.

He abandoned it.  It hadn’t made him feel any better anyway and he tried to think as he drew in a deep breath, sitting straight before a thought finally came to him and he patted down the fabric of his pants in a search for something and it was a surprising relief to pull the communication device from his pocket.  The shape was uneven and not ideal, but it was small enough to fit between his fingers and he lowered his gaze to it, staring at it as his hands considered the contours, searching out an interesting way to toy with it.  His thumb on the earpiece worked, flicking down on the end of the curved piece of plastic and letting it bounce back to its original shape with a satisfying vibration.  It was enough for him to bring his other hand to it as well, the digits settling in against the shape to consider all the aspects of it.

He was preoccupied enough with it that it was something of a shock when a voice came from it, a sound that was enough to make him jump.

“Hello, Junkrat.  Roadhog.”  It was Angela’s voice, scratchy and quiet and unsteady, possibly because of the distance, but perfectly audible all the same.  It was strange to think that they were still so close when he hadn’t seen them for what felt like a long time.  Hell, he’d almost managed to forget that they existed.  It had been easy to forget and for some reason the reminder was actually a little bit chilling.  His eyes lifted to dart over the nearby forms of the other beachgoers as they came and went as if it was some covert thing not meant for them to hear, and despite his reluctance he lifted the device a bit higher, still holding it in the fingers of both hands and looking at it carefully.

“This is Mercy, checking in.  I’m not certain if you still have your communication devices, but we’ll be calling each hour regardless.  We just want to inform you that our mission is complete and we are ready to return to base.  When you are ready please rendezvous with us and we will make final preparations to leave.”  Quiet as the message was her tone was still clear—patient and cheerful.  No traces of disappointment, doubt, or reproach.  In a way it made the creeping feeling of guilt he’d started to recognize feel even worse and he stared out over the beach in front of himself, wide-eyed and not seeing any of it as the voice went on.  “You know where to find us.  Looking forward to seeing you soon.”

The device went quiet and the silence was filled by the sound of the waves, too peaceful for him to latch his mind onto to give it something to worry at.  His thoughts had scattered and he hadn’t even quite recovered when a new sound came over the comms, a different voice.  One he immediately recognized.

“Junkrat—”  It was Satya, coming through just as quietly but perfectly distinct all the same.  “This is—”

His body responded immediately and reflexively, unthinking, his hands stuffing the comm device directly into the mound of sand in front of himself with both hands, his back stock-straight and his eyes wide as he stared down at the place it had disappeared between the fine grains and his fingers, no sound emitting from the small mound whatsoever.  Or if there was, it was all drowned out by the sudden loud pounding of his heart and a strange, rushing sound of indeterminate origin in his ears.  A tightness welled up in his chest and it felt like he was drowning and it took him a long moment to recognize it and he blinked, stopped, and tried to collect his thoughts.  He wasn’t certain how long he sat there, body rigid and eyes pointed downward.  Still, eventually he pried his fingers open with care, as if they had been frozen in place.  The comm device was still buried.  It took a few hesitant sweeps of his hand to disperse the sand but the black plastic of the earpiece came into view, and he plucked it up carefully, holding it between two fingers, delicately, not quite certain he wanted to touch it.

The device was silent.  He stared at it for a moment longer before switching it to the prosthetic hand and carefully brushing it clean with the other.  A thought at the back of his mind suggested he might have broken it.  He didn’t want to check.  Even transmitting a second of static seemed strangely like it was giving too much away.  Like it might draw attention that he wasn’t sure he wanted.

Still, he stared down at it in his hands, cupped between his palms, and listened carefully.  It was strange, really.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear anything or not.  Regardless, nothing else came from it.  He was too busy trying to concentrate to notice Roadhog until the larger Junker sat abruptly down beside him on the other towel but he didn’t look up, blinking instead, hunched over, breathing still a little heavy.  It was quiet for a little while except the occasional wheeze from Roadhog’s mask and Jamison swallowed, jaw tensing before he managed to pry it open to break the silence.

“Oi.  Roadie?”

The other Junker grunted, a sound that raised upward in question, and it seemed slightly quieter than usual.  Jamison wasn’t certain if it was his imagination.

“… y’think we oughta go back?”

“Yeah, probably.”

A twitch ran through him, the fingers of his prosthetic hand trying to roll in succession, the unpleasant grinding sensation following it.  He was lost for a moment in a stare pointed out over the sea.  Roadhog jogged him out of it with a large hand dropped a bit heavily on his shoulders but it still took him a moment; Jamison closed his eyes and shook himself violently like it might help get everything off his shoulders and after a moment longer of hesitation he pushed himself to his feet, stuffing the comm device back in his pocket and brushing Roadhog’s hand away with a strange mix of exasperation and gratitude, like his mind couldn’t decide on which one was stronger.

“A’right.  Guess we better give all this stuff back.”

Roadhog answered with a grunt and started collecting what they’d taken, his arms quickly filled up with umbrellas and towels.  Jamison had already started walking, trudging through the sand and calling out over his shoulder.

“You mind if we make a few stops?  Before… y’know.”  The thought made him pause and he glanced back to the larger Junker, his teeth working at the inside of his cheek.  “Got some things I wanna do.”

Another grunt gave him everything he needed to know.

“Thanks, mate.”

 

* * *

 

By the second day it was impossible to deny the growing unease which was made no better, really, by the return of the rest of the team.  For the first half of the day it seemed almost as if the Junkers had disappeared overnight, and none of their searches of the city came up with anything helpful.

A single series of photographs came in around noon.  Two distinctive figures in clear, high definition images—Jamison in oddly nice clothing and wearing a hat and sunglasses while Roadhog stood in his tank top and jeans beside him, wearing a hat as well, even with the mask.  They were ridiculous disguises that didn’t seem as if they could be at all discreet, Jamison sucking on the straw of a cup in his hand in one of them and Roadhog carrying one of his own.  They were casual images, really. 

But there was something about Jamison’s posture that seemed more bent than usual and the deep crease in his forehead above the glasses and the way his lips were pursed together in a markedly uncomfortable expression, nothing like the images from the previous day or the night before.  Or at least, it seemed like it to Satya.  She wasn’t certain if any of the others saw the same thing but if they did it wasn’t mentioned.  She decided she’d rather not bring it up.

There was nothing else for the rest of the day.

Everyone was late to return to their bunks and if the anxiety coursing through Satya’s veins wasn’t enough the disheartened air made it difficult to sleep.  She hadn’t had a decent rest since Junkertown and unfortunately it didn’t seem as though one would be coming; she and Lena had sat awake, barely conversing as the hours of the second day wore on until they both gave in and settled into their beds in what Satya already knew would be a futile effort to doze off.

It was well after dark when the silence was broken by a knock at the door, and if she were not feeling groggy from exhaustion she would have moved more quickly, hoping nonetheless that it would be one of the members of the team with an update.  So she padded to the door in her slippers and a pair of pajamas she had little choice but to buy, her fingers moving carefully through her hair to smooth it before she pressed her hand against the door and it slid open.

Jamison was standing there in a pair of khaki pants rolled up to the cuff on his right leg, a button-down shirt with the both sleeves similarly rolled up, his mechanical hand slipped easily into his pocket, his hair resting neatly back on his head and a pair of sunglasses on his face, just as he had looked in the photograph and seemingly none worse for wear.  Seeing him was enough of a surprise that she couldn’t even fully process the strangeness of the clothing, and the look of shock on her face in combination with the fact that she was in her pajamas likely prompted his less-than-appropriate greeting.

“Shit… is it late?  It’s late ain’t it.”  She assumed he looked away from her by the way he dipped his head and lifted his arm to look at the watch on his wrist—another strange detail—with an irritated mutter.  “Can’t even use a bloody watch right...”

Everything about him was so inappropriate, so perfectly casual and unconcerned, that it took her feet from under her and left her speechless.  It was as if he was unaware that anything noteworthy had happened and the days he’d been missing meant nothing at all.

A strange mixture of emotions that was difficult to parse paralyzed her, her hand still at the side of the door, a wave of overwhelming relief and shock and trepidation welling up in her as she stared at him, too out of sorts to answer properly.  And then, underneath it all and building slowly but steadily, anger.  She couldn’t express any of it, not at first.  After a moment she blinked and lowered her chin, closing her eyes as she brought her pinched thumbs and forefingers up to press against her temples as if it might help her process the situation.  Her stare returned to his face and she blurted out the first words that came into her head, the first out-of-place element she could latch onto.  “You’re wearing sunglasses.”

“Oh.  Right.”  His head tipped to the side in thought before he pulled them off of his face and tucked them nonchalantly over the fabric covering his chest, not at all seeming to grasp her complete incomprehension of the situation or the emotions underneath it, simply looking at her calmly, his expression more or less neutral save for a small, perfectly natural smile.  There were shadows under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept, but he looked lively and unconcerned all the same. “’ow ya goin’, love?”

Her breath was coming a bit too quickly and her mouth felt dry and the anger driving it was temporarily buried under the confusion and relief in her voice.  “Where have you _been_?”

She _was_ angry but she wanted to _be_ angry, wanted to display it properly, but hadn’t at all.  The same couldn’t be said of Lena.  A voice rang out loudly in the background, raising dramatically in pitch with the question.

“Is that Jamison?”  Lena didn’t wait for a response but darted to the doorway behind Satya at full speed, her breath coming in one loud gasp at the sight of him and her eyes narrowing in a way that still wasn’t particularly intimidating, but it was clear from her tone that she was absolutely furious.  “You need to report to Winston _right now_.  We were supposed to leave yesterday.”  Concern crept into her voice despite her best efforts to keep it at bay as she went on.  “We’ve been worried sick about you, you didn’t answer anything on the comms.”

The first traces of uncertainty showed in the way Jamison’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, his tongue appearing to flick over his lips before he could reply.  “Yeah… sorry about that.  Got distracted.”

Lena’s voice took on a dangerous tone, slowing as she emphasized each word.  “Are you telling me that you heard us and didn’t reply back?”

Jamison’s lips pulled back in a tentative grimace, a wince following as if he only then realized what the answer was.   “… maybe?”  His refusal to admit it did nothing to appease Lena, who made a frustrated sound as she stepped closer, bumping Satya a step out of the way, so he went on quickly, raising his hands in defense.  “Look, there were other things…”

The woman’s chest lifted with another loud gasp if she were suddenly just remembering.  “You were _on the news!_ ”

He blinked, his body going straight.  “Shit, was I?”  The fact obviously surprised him, but he didn’t seem terribly concerned by it either and it did nothing to help Satya move past her bewilderment.  Lena, thankfully, seemed to have the conversation under control, and there was more force in her voice than Satya had ever heard.

“More than once!  You broke into an arcade.  _And_ stole a car.”

His brow furrowed as he blinked and for a moment seemed lost, lifting his hand to fold his fingers around his chin in a look that was both thoughtful and slightly troubled, his eyes pointed toward the ceiling as he murmured a preoccupied response.  “That does kinda sound like me...”

“Go see Winston.  This instant.  No arguments.”

Lena’s words jarred him back to attention and Jamison’s gaze snapped to her, seemingly forgetting the accusations entirely.  His attempt at bargaining came with a pleading tone but one that sounded put out all the same, as if he thought he had the right to be irritated.  “C’mon Lena, five minutes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m tryin’ to do somethin’, here!”

“ _Go_.  He’s down the hall.  Around the corner.”

A sound caught in his throat and was ground nearly into nothingness between his gritted teeth before he muttered his response.  “Fine!  Christ.”

He took a step back and Lena stood her ground in the doorway as he started trudging away with heavier steps than were necessary, watching his retreating form until it reached the end of the hallway and turned, disappearing behind a corner.  When Lena pulled back and pressed the button to prompt the door to slide shut she released a deep sigh, her breath still a bit short from the interaction.  The anger seemed to dissipate quickly and her shoulders dropped as she raised her eyes to Satya, having to look her over for a moment before seeming to realize something, and the apology in her voice was immediate and genuine.

“Oh, no!  Sorry, love… I didn’t even think…”

Satya’s heart jumped as she felt as though her mind finally caught up with the situation and she raised her hands in a gesture that felt far too nervous, meant to dismiss the other woman’s apology.  “No!  No.  Please… it’s fine.”  Even with her concern and then the relief the idea that the other team members knew about her and Jamison, or at least had seen what happened, put her on edge.  Everyone had been too polite to mention it, to even imply anything about it, seemingly waiting for her to address it and being unexpectedly faced with a reminder that they were aware sent her heart beating faster.

But he was alive, and he was inexplicably, suddenly _there_ , and he seemed to be maddeningly unaffected by all of it.

Perhaps Lena noticed.  She changed her tone and stood up with a well-meaning smile that still held traces of annoyance.  “He is _infuriating_ sometimes.”

She was too tired to feel it but Satya took Lena’s meaning, and even based on logic alone she would have to agree, so she nodded before lowering her chin, giving her head a brisk shake to try to clear it.  The ache in her chest was far from gone but the anger seemed to have loosened it and removed at least some of the burden as Lena went on, her own voice already calming.

“Thank goodness he’s okay… certainly Mako is with him.”  No doubt similar to Lena’s thoughts, Satya couldn’t imagine the two Junkers being apart for long, nor Jamison being utterly unconcerned if Roadhog had been hurt or gone missing.  It seemed safe to assume that he was fine.  Lena took her mind away from it as she continued.  “At least he’s going to see Winston.  Hopefully we can leave tomorrow, now.  It would be nice to be back in Gibraltar so everything could just calm down.”

The other woman had already begun retreating back into the room and within a moment she had zipped forward and flopped back on her bed with a deep, relieved-sounding sigh.  Perhaps it was wishful thinking but Satya imagined the weight of the last two days was abruptly lifted from her.  Satya felt no such reprieve.  Jamison’s return, despite how grateful she was for it, still brought quite a few things with it, and some of them she still wasn’t sure she was ready to address or if she even knew _how_ to address them.  Everything in Junkertown.  The kiss.  His look of betrayal.  What he’d said.  She took a deep breath and curled her hands into fists.

She had turned her back to the door and leaned against it rather than move, as if if she removed herself from the spot she would lose the ability to process everything she felt about what had just happened, and she felt the knock rather than heard it, quiet but insistent.  She was still too out-of-sorts to work through much beyond her immediate feelings and so she pushed off of the door once again without any thought whatsoever as to who it might be.  Somehow she still didn’t expect it when the door slid open.

It was Jamison, of course, back far too quickly for him to even have even reached Winston’s bunk let alone actually spoken to the gorilla.  Relief showed on his face when it was Satya who answered the door and he attempted to glance around the side of it, hunched over as if it would give him more stealth, speaking in a hushed voice.

“Is she gone?”

The answer came immediately in the form of Lena’s voice, louder and even more indignant than before.  “Is that _Jamison_ again?”

He stood up straight with a look of irritation, his lips pursed together and his pinched shut for a moment as he matched her in volume, snapping sharpened teeth over the words.  “It’s bloody room service!”

The other woman didn’t come to the door but her voice rang out, no less exasperated even as she gave in.  “I swear if you aren’t gone in five minutes I will drag you there myself.”

“Fine, a’right!  Can we get a little privacy?”

Lena was beside her again in a flash, staring Jamison down as she moved with deliberate slowness between the two of them in the doorway, pausing once out of the way to point a finger at him, her voice firm.  “You had better be gone by the time I get back.”

“Sure, sure.” 

The other woman was gone an instant later, zipping down the hallway, and Satya couldn’t help but feel both guilty for unintentionally evicting her and apprehensive, left alone with Jamison, standing in the doorway, suddenly without any possible route of escape other than closing the door in his face.  She looked back to him just in time to catch his sullen, oddly bemused mutter.  “Fuckin ‘ell…”

There still hadn’t been adequate time for her to collect her thoughts.  She went with the first thing that came to mind. 

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh!  Right.”  Jamison stood a bit straighter and glanced down at himself, pulling the mechanical hand from his pocket to tug lightly at the rolled up end of a sleeve.  “Roadie said it might make me feel better, lookin’ presentable an’ all that.  Mostly it just feels funny.”  A shrug rolled along his shoulders, uncaring, and he lifted her eyes back to her with it, accompanying the gesture with a small toss of his head.  “Guess we couldn’t be runnin’ around in our usual anyway.  Not that it seems like it mattered.  I reckon that won’t be an issue, though.  Not like I haven’t been on the news before.” 

His apparent good cheer was mystifying and irritating all at once and she closed her eyes for a moment against it, pinching her features tight.  She had to remind herself of what Angela had said: be supportive.  She still wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed, but it likely at least meant keeping her temper.  She tried, even if the anger was still there, as were other things that she could feel just under the surface. 

 “You _can’t_ do this.”

There was only a slight pause before he answered and he seemed genuinely unaware of what she was talking about, a fact that only made it more maddening.  “Do what?”

She could _feel_ the disbelief on her face.  It unsettled her and her voice reflected her bafflement.  “You disappeared.  You didn’t contact us.” 

“… right.”  His eyes flicked briefly to the side as the smile flagged but it stayed, only muted slightly as he offered an explanation that was given with enough sincerity that he seemed to think was sufficient.  “Needed a short break.  Guess I got a little distracted.”

“A short—”  Her voice had risen and she paused to stop it, blinking heavily and staring down at the floor to collect herself, and when she found it again she had managed to quiet it, even if the underlying exasperation was still there.  “What could possibly have distracted you from responding for _two full days_.”

It stopped him, if nothing else had.  His hand had come to rest on the frame of the door to accommodate the lean of his body toward her and he paused, his eyes briefly going unfocused as he stared at a point somewhere over her shoulder, a gentle crease forming on his brow as one eye narrowed in a squint.  He was clearly in thought and for a moment a vague look of concern flitted across his features before he spoke, his voice unexpectedly quiet.  “… I dunno.”

Different emotions were fighting for her attention and her nostrils flared as she took a breath to keep them in check.  The words were difficult somehow, as if saying them aloud made them more real.  Easier to feel.  And there was a faint waver to her voice that was far more revealing than she liked.  “We thought you might not be coming back.”

It snapped him out of it but he rallied and the grin came back even if it did look a bit puzzled, and if he had noticed the tone of her voice he didn’t acknowledge it.  “Why would I do that?”

“It’s not unreasonable to think.  After everything that happened…”

There was a long pause as he stared at her and the confusion slowly changed.  He still somehow didn’t seem to have connected the dots and she wasn’t certain if it was avoidance or if he had somehow managed to actually forget.  A twitch moved through him and his hands lifted halfway to his chest, his fingers moving against one another as he kept his eyes evasive and the sudden nervousness was lost on her for a moment even with how low his voice had dropped.   “… you mean all that stuff in Junkertown?”

Anger was easy and in a strange way more comfortable; it made her feel less vulnerable and let things come to her more quickly—something that didn’t come without its own risks—but she couldn’t keep it out of her voice regardless.  “What else could I _possibly_ be referring to.”

He pulled back from the door and lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck.  “Yeah.  Shoulda guessed you’d wanna talk about that…”

“That… and _this_ …”  She gestured toward him as a whole before pausing, biting her tongue, unable to quite express her meaning, shaking her head to try to clear it before she went on.  “This is not acceptable behavior.”

She missed the cringe but it was likely meant to be appeasing, the way he lifted his hands, his body bent slightly in on itself, his palms facing her.  His tongue tripped ever-so-slightly over the words in his hurry to get them out.  “I know.  I know, I know.  Thing is, it ain’t gonna happen again.”  Despite the sincerity and certainty in his voice she looked unconvinced and he went on, standing straighter.  There was a small spasm that ran along his shoulders and an awkward laugh as he pulled himself back and a careless grin settled itself on his features.  “That stuff in Junkertown?  It’s all water under the bridge, love.  Far as I’m concerned there ain’t anything to worry about.”  As if to prove the point he nodded and settled his hands on his hips.  “Way I see it, I go see Winston, I apologize to him, he apologizes to me, and Bob’s your uncle, we’re back to Gibraltar by tomorrow night.” 

Satya could only stare.  Her breath took up her concentration entirely and he took advantage of the silence by hurrying on.

“Anyway, that ain’t why I’m here.  I got you these.”  The mechanical hand in his pocket shifted, the other hand joining it, the both of them curled around something that his fingers hesitated over before holding it out to her: a small thing, a little box, and she took it with both hands, having to take a step closer to him to do so and clinging to the sorely-needed diversion it provided.  Her bewilderment was enough to briefly pull her away from everything else and she opened it carefully. 

They were earrings.  Colorful things—opals, not just one but three drops in silver, dangling mounts.  Her attention was drawn wholly to them as she simply stared, still trying to process it before gently tilting the box and watching the vibrant colors shift even in the poor light of the hallway. 

He lifted his voice suddenly with haste and she glanced up to see his own eyes shot wide, his hands raised in pre-emptive defense, cringing but not so much as before.

“Bought ‘em!  Bought ‘em, legitimate, with me own credits.  Got a receipt and everything.”  When she didn’t respond other than looking back to the box he continued in a calmer tone, taking his time with it.  “Wasn’t sure if you’d like ‘em but they were the best ones I saw, I think.”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them still, an action she glanced at without raising her head, and the words that followed were a bit lighter for it, highlighted by the beleaguered surprise in his voice.  “Took forever, though.  You know how many types of earrings there are out there?  It’s a lot.  I know you like crystally ones but I thought maybe you might like these too.”  He had raised the mechanical hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in a hesitant, less certain gesture, but one that seemed more steady the same.  “They got a lotta colors in ‘em.  I liked that.”

“I see.”  It was a blunt response but it was muted by the weight of heavy thought, and there was little she could do to give it more feeling.  He went on anyway, a bit more quietly.

“Guess it’s sort of an apology.  That I’m tryin’ to say I’m sorry.”

She released a breath at the words, still looking down at the earrings and feeling temporarily frozen.  It was impossible for her to reconcile how upset he had been with how dismissive he was being about all of it and as a result if the apology was a victory it felt like a bit of a hollow one—false, and still unsatisfying.  It did soothe her anger, her emotions calming but still leaving her thoughts swimming as she tried to make sense of it and prioritize what still needed to be done.  The temptation _was_ there to not say anything, to follow his lead and not address what had happened, but it felt wrong somehow, like avoiding it might make things worse.  And a suspicion was still there despite his assurances.  And the laugh.  And the careless smile.  It left her feeling uneasy. 

But he hadn’t been at all cooperative.  If the goal was getting him to talk the trouble was she wasn’t sure how, but she supposed there might be one way.  She didn’t consider the fact that choosing it completely disregarded the apology.

“What about Thompson?”

It was brief but she could see it, the split-second where his expression fell, the way he recovered, the way his jaw tensed over the grin, the pleasantness fading from it.  The way his nostrils flared, the way his pupils shrank, the twitch of a single eyelid.  But with a quick rise and fall of his chest it was gone and he was back to that easy expression as he answered even if the determined grin had become something that looked a bit more like clenched teeth and his voice dropped a bit lower, his strange drawl a bit more pronounced.  “What about ‘im?”

The ostensible reasons for pulling a reaction from him began to feel muddled.  Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was something else, but she’d found a weak point and she pressed harder.  “You’re alright with him getting away, after everything?”

The bemused, uncomfortable huff of air was clearly intended to be a chuckle and the muscles of his forearm jerked with it, curling the fingers of his hand but he sucked in a breath and a slightly-recovered and stronger laugh followed.  “Like I said, water under the bridge.  Bygones be bygones and all ‘a that.” 

“And Winston stopping you?”

An actual gasp came from him, a sharp inhale that he held in his chest for a moment too long before he found his voice.  There was a tone of disbelief to it that betrayed a growing agitation and he tripped over his words again as he tried to rein it in.  “Why are you… I’m tellin’ ya, it’s fine.”

There was one other thing, another point her mind suggested, but she cringed away from it with a troubled breath of her own.  She didn’t want to mention the kiss, or what he’d said.  Instead she forced her concentration toward him and considered more carefully the curve of his shoulders and the way his jaw had squared and when she did find her voice it was inquisitive, a tone that unfortunately masked the concern that was there as well.

“It doesn’t seem fine.”

His response was immediate, like it had been waiting to get out, a frustrated and strangled ‘ngh!’ that ended with his body tensed and coiled in on itself slightly from it, his hands balled into tight fists and his eyes tightly closed.  They snapped open a moment later and air escaped from him more heavily before speaking and it seemed as though it might be a mutter meant for himself rather than anyone else.  “You’re so _bloody_ stubborn…”  A sort of intensity had snuck in before she had noticed it, or perhaps it had simply taken her statement as an opportunity to burst out, and a hint of desperation crept into a nearly-unnoticeably stuttering, high-pitched giggle that had begun to sound a bit manic.  “This ain’t goin’ like I thought it would…” 

He cut himself off and for a moment he paused, his head lowered and a deep furrow on his brow as he tried to pull himself together and his hands lifted to either side of his body, pointed in spades to emphasize the words and press them firmly downward, the gesture doing its best to solidify it as truth as he looked back up to her with slightly sharper breaths.  “Guess I got a little frustrated, needed to blow off some steam.  Might’ve made a couple ‘a little mistakes.” 

“Little mistakes?”

He flinched, speaking more uncertainly.  “… big mistakes?”

Her mind was moving in another direction and she spoke without entirely thinking.  “You were on the news.”

“Yeah, I didn’t… it wasn’t…”  His fists balled in frustration as the words trailed off and he closed his eyes before they snapped open again and he stared, the anxiety clear in the way they had gone wide and apprehensive but he stumbled through the words anyway with his voice pitched to something verging on a pleading whine.  “Look, I just… I’m sayin’ it won’t happen again.  I won’t do it again, a’right?  Ain’t that what you want?  I’ll keep quiet.  I’ll behave meself.” 

She didn’t quite recognize the tone but it didn’t matter; there was something in the phrasing that struck her dumb and overwhelmed her, an immediate and jarring reaction as a realization flashed through her.  It should have been what she wanted, but it wasn’t, somehow, and her mind went blank and her gaze lost focus as she gasped a single, quiet word.  “No.” 

There was simply too much happening for her to notice the change in him, the way his breath hitched and his slowly drew wider.  She concentrated instead on her own breathing, her gaze pointed to the floor.

It _wasn’t_ what she wanted and she was having a difficult time understanding why.  The problem stole all of her attention and left her voice muted and preoccupied as she answered without fully hearing the words, herself. 

“No, that is not what I want.”

She entirely missed the brief silence that followed and was slow in picking up his voice as it drifted back into her consciousness.

“A’right… a’right…” 

She looked up at him still attempting to process her thoughts only to find him staring at her wide-eyed in return before his eyelids fluttered in a series of rapid blinks that did nothing to give him any sense of calm and wasn’t helped by the way he ran both of his hands back roughly through his hair.  The words were a little airy, his voice rising as he went on as his stare drifted to the space between them, unfocused as he spoke with words that didn’t seem to be quite intended for her.  “That ain’t good enough.  I can… I can do somethin’ to make it up to ya.”

Her own mind was still trying to catch up.  She shook her head but there was too much to think about and for a moment she allowed her thoughts to drift and pull inward for a few breaths as he continued, bargaining in an unsteady voice, his back pulled straight and his hands in her field of view, counting off possibilities on his fingers, seemingly having forgotten her for a moment.  “I reckon you already got a new uniform.  Probably don’t really want any more jewelry.  What about… _oh_.  I could do your chores for ya.  All the stuff around base.  Whatever ya want.”

She was finally starting to organize herself, not yet completely focused but getting there, and it was enough for her to recognize his unrest and she pulled her voice together, still finding it a bit to quiet.  “No, wait—”

His hand parted the threads of his hair as he gripped it, his eyes widening and looking more troubled as he muttered to himself between rapidly shallowing breaths.  “Shouldn’t’ve stolen that car.  Shouldn’t’ve run off.  Or broken that window.”  The expression didn’t leave him even as his lips curled back in a growl with his sharp teeth gritted, a hard shake of his head and a low, coarse mutter that still managed to sound slightly vicious.  “Fawkes, ya bloody _fuckin’_ idiot.”

It forced a gasp of recognition from her, realizing abruptly that she was in significant trouble.  Satya willed her voice louder and was relieved at first when it finally seemed to pierce his concentration.  “Wait!  Wait.  I only meant—” 

But she didn’t have the time to finish the thought before his own words cut her off.  His eyes shifted to her abruptly like he was just remembering she was there but it was far from an improvement.  His hands had lifted slowly upward closer to his chest and his fingers worked against one-another as his jaw loosened for a burst of laughter that escaped him unrestrained and his voice pitched upward further, suddenly loud and a bit tense as it chased after.  “Guess I’m used to makin’ an idiot of meself, y’know?  I mean I’m not used to it, guess I just mean it ain’t an unfamiliar feelin’.  That I do it a lot.”  He was talking faster, to the point where it had begun to sound frantic despite the way he tried to pull his lips back in a grin under troubled eyes, his expression strained.  “‘Course I usually don’t try to punch a gorilla when I’m doin’ it.  Well.  Except that one time at that zoo.”  She wasn’t certain if it was a joke and the giggle that followed didn’t seem quite right, loud and wheezing, overly amused, slightly out of control and afterward leaving him breathless.

He was moving too fast for her to keep up, changing the topic, pulling her away from what she had intended to say and she took an unsteady breath, trying to balance her frustration with herself against her determination to bring the situation back under control.  The latter immediately seemed far more important.  It gave her voice more strength than she felt.

“Jamie, slow down.”

She knew that at the very least he heard her.  And he tried, that much was clear in the way he went slightly rigid and sucked in some air, a staggering breath that didn’t seem to do much to help and her stomach dropped, her hands lifted in front of herself, curled into loose, uncertain fists at her chest.  The earlier façade was crumbling far more rapidly than she could have expected and there was a spike of alarm that she was certain made it to her face and it left her feeling deeply shaken.  It was what she had asked for and she wasn’t at all prepared for it.  He looked at her and it was too intense for her to handle; it stopped the sound in her throat.  She had to drop her gaze.

“I shouldn’t’ve said it.  That thing about you kissin’ me.”  His voice stumbled to keep up with itself, panicked and breathy with desperation and not entirely stable, dripping with regret and the note of pleading sent a shock through her chest.  “I know ya didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just… things get all strange sometimes…”  It was as if he couldn’t stop, sounding baffled and pained all at once, his teeth clenched hard like they were trying to keep them in and he lifted his hand in a gesture with the words, metal fingers pinching together at their tips near the side of his head and then bursting apart to signify something he was having trouble putting into words.

Worse, he was shaking.

She recognized it.  It was something she knew too well maybe, something that suddenly seemed intimately familiar and she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before.  When she’d seen him with Roadhog on the practice range.  When he’d tried to punch Winston.  Maybe she’d only noticed the fury and not the other things underneath.  Clearly what was more important was calming him.  She just wasn’t certain how.

“It’s okay.” 

But the distress in him was seeping from every action, from the small tremble in his hands when he raised them to drag them back through his hair again where they stayed, gripping tightly to the strands instead, and his heavy, uneven breathing and the way his lips had abandoned the attempt at a grin and settled for bared teeth and it was different from Junkertown but it seemed like it might actually be worse.

His eyes had gone unfocused and he was looking elsewhere, upward, features drawn and distraught when he forced his voice to drag itself from his throat to form words again.  “Ya kissed me in front of everyone and I… all I did was…” 

One gasping, strange laugh interrupted the thought as he pulled himself upward, straightening, his hands abandoning his hair to raise helplessly at his sides instead with his lips curled upward in a broad, apologetic grin.  He didn’t bother trying to keep the pain out of it and perhaps that was why it seemed almost real despite its incongruous nature and his eyes locked onto hers looking empty as he took in a shallow breath and spoke in a wavering voice that cracked with resignation.  “Look, I know there’s somethin’ wrong with me—”

The words hit her with a crushing force.  There was no thinking; Satya’s hands found the collar of his shirt and jerked him roughly toward herself, pulling him to her chest.  The box holding the earrings was dropped to the floor in favor of holding onto him and she didn’t give it a second thought.  He made a small sound of surprise—a gasped breath of air—and his hands raised, frozen inches from her, hovering at her sides and her voice found solid ground unthinkingly, the words coming with instant insistence and conviction. 

“That’s not true.” 

A heavy shudder moved through his body and he made a muffled sound, a half-sob, his ragged breaths pulling his shoulders upward with them.

She could feel the alarm in her expression but it felt like without him looking at her, with him pressed close to her body, that she could finally pull her thoughts together and she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath as she felt his own catch and released it just as carefully, hoping it might instill a sense of calm in him, somehow.  It helped her at the very least, and her mind started to lose the sense of panic that had begun to seep into it—a borrowed emotion—something she needed to more carefully monitor.  She was glad it showed through in her voice.

“That is _not_ true.”  There was anger in it although she wasn’t sure directed to where, but it was firm as well and brooked no argument.    

His hands were at her sides, gripping her clothes tightly and pulling the fabric taut against her back as he bunched it into his fists, clinging to her, and she stared down at the back of his head, her own heartbeat still coming a bit too fast.  There were memories there, in what he had said.  Familiar words.  Her hands released his collar, moving quickly over the curves of his jaw and behind his ears to sink themselves in his hair, her fingers moving through it a bit briskly to keep him close, as much for herself as for him.  Another tremor ran through him followed by a small sound of distress and a harsh, shuddering gasp of air that was no better than the ones before.

It helped.  Having her hands moving through his hair in gradually slowing strokes gave her a chance to catch her breath but even if he’d gone quiet his own was still escalated and harsh, and her mind moved with care over possible solutions.  One seemed as though it might work and she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

She moved, her hands cautiously leaving his hair.  The gauntlet found the metal of his prosthetic forearm and clung to it gently as her hand drifted along his jaw before finding its place and she lifted him by the chin, a finger curled under it to pull him upwards.  She wasn’t ready for the gaze that came with it, his widened eyes glassy and focused on her in a direct stare with something like shock and fear in the shadows of it and she had to avert her gaze as her heart stuttered.  It forced her to pause and compose herself before she remembered what she was doing and moved gently closer to him, cautious, and brought his lips closer to hers.

He winced. 

It was a full-body motion, instinctive and uncontrollable and it pulled him in on himself, his eyes closing tightly and his jaw taut around gritted teeth as a shudder moved through him and it was enough to draw a startled gasp from her as her hands pulled away from him like she’d been burned.  He’d let go of her just as quickly and his fingers were left folded in against themselves forming tight fists that he held at either side, slightly lifted as if in defense.  It wasn’t anger, though.  That much was clear from deep crease on his brow.  The strained noise that came from his throat and ended in something like a whine.  The way his shoulders heaved with each gasp of air.  It was something else.

It threatened to overwhelm her.  She refused.

Instead she reached out more firmly and brought her hands to either side of his head so that her fingers nestled against the back of his jaw just below his ears and she pulled him toward her until their foreheads were touching, perhaps a little more roughly than was necessary.  He didn’t resist.  With his eyes closed and with him solidly in her grip it was easier to shape the tone of her voice to what she wanted and she took a deep breath, releasing it with the words in a quiet, gentle request. ~~~~

“Breathe with me.”

It was too much to try to watch him.  She closed her eyes instead and concentrated on herself.

It didn’t work, not immediately.  But at some point his hands were clutching her shirt again and she thought she could feel him trying in the way the air occasionally caught in his chest and after a moment she took her hands from his jaw and carefully unfurled his own from the fabric at her side to bring it gingerly to her chest instead, placing his palm against it so that he could feel the beat of her heart, slow and measured.  Her gauntlet moved to the nape of his neck, fingers following the curve of his body to keep him close and trusting him to stay.  The improvement was slow but consistent and he stayed perfectly still save for small, rebellious spasms of his muscles and the rise and fall of his chest, the mechanical hand at her side eventually loosening its grip, his breath on her lips, slow and even if still a bit deep. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been but he was quiet and still and s\peaking seemed worth the risk.  She opened her eyes just enough to see but kept them pointed downwards, preferring to look at the collar of his shirt.  Her voice came as a murmur.

“Better?”

The nod was slow to come and nearly imperceptible but she felt it against her forehead all the same and he followed it with a somewhat breathless, still shocked-sounding voice, slightly hoarse and painted with a strange mixture of confusion and a still-lingering uncertainty.  “Yeah.”

She wouldn’t have expected a single word to be so relieving and she released a deep sigh to clear what she could of the earlier stress.  But she wasn’t ready to let him go, not really, in part because she had suspicions that it might be too soon but just as much because the expression in his voice suggested she might not be able to face him quite yet.  Instead her hands shifted to pull him just slightly away and move him to the crook of her neck for safekeeping.  He nestled against her obediently, simply following where she guided him.  _Numb_ , her mind suggested.  She didn’t quite like the idea, or the fact that, with him closer, she could feel the beat of his heart, still a bit too strong and too fast.  It wasn’t long before he pressed a muffled mumble against her skin in a quiet and barely-audible voice that sounded almost embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t entirely certain what the apology was for but it seemed best to accept it, even if as a result she sounded slightly puzzled.  “It’s okay.”

But it seemed to be enough.  His body pulled more closely into hers and his hands coiled carefully around her back where his fingers took hold of her shirt again, clutching the fabric firmly. 

“Roadie says I get meself all worked up sometimes…”

It suddenly made sense and she replied in kind.  “Mm.  I suppose that may be true.”

Her words prompted a small, miserable sound from him and she inadvertently gripped him a bit more tightly, her fingers sinking into his hair as she tried and failed to stave off a wince and opted to try again, lowering her voice to keep it soft.  “I believe perhaps we all do, sometimes.”

He was pressed hard against her neck and speaking quietly but she could hear the words anyway, clear as anything.  “Don’t think _you_ do.”

It was enough to jar her from the relative peace she had found and a gentle crease formed on her brow as her heart beat a bit more strongly in her chest, her arms still holding him close.  “… I’ve…”  The words wouldn’t come and she struggled for a moment before allowing her head to tip slightly to the side so that her cheek was resting against his hair.  “I’ve had practice.”

That stilled him.  It was quiet for a moment and he was motionless under her grip, his muscles in a strange place between relaxed and tensed.  “… practice like that?”

Her thoughts had drifted elsewhere.  Memories, mostly, ones that—while she wasn’t opposed to revisiting them—did little to help her current situation.  She pulled herself back to him with an inquisitive, “Mm?”

“That thing ya did.  With the breathing.”

She occupied her fingers by toying with the tips of his hair.  “That’s been part of it, yes.”

“Oh.” 

She tipped her head, looking at what she could see of him more thoughtfully, minding more carefully the way her fingers parted his hair behind his ear, just barely in her view.  She realized that his heart was finally beating out a rhythm that was more evenly paced and her touch pulled the air more deeply from him and his voice was a bit louder, whether from force of will or from him having withdrawn a short distance she couldn’t be sure.

“Don’t tell ‘im?  Roadie.  About all ‘a that, I mean.”  She could only assume he meant everything that had happened, everything since he had shown up at her door.  “I don’t want ‘im thinkin’ he’s right all the time.”

The words came with a small upward curl of her lips and a faint chuckle.  “I suppose we can keep it to ourselves.”

A deep breath of relief came from him and brushed against her skin, only somewhat shaky, and for a moment he was clinging to her more tightly, seemingly content enough to be burrowed in the crook of her neck.  It gave her an opportunity to revisit a thought that had had to be swept aside in favor of other things, but one she felt she needed to address.  There was a hesitance in her voice, but curiosity overwhelmed it anyway, a need to know. 

“Do you truly feel that way?”

She could feel the way his brow furrowed against her neck.  “What way?”

“That there’s something wrong with you.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so blunt.  There was an obvious discomfort in the way his grip tightened, in the way he swallowed, in the small shiver that moved through him and the way his body curled slightly in on itself.  She supposed it was a bit of an answer in itself.  For a moment he didn’t seem to have the voice to answer the question so she offered him something else instead, filled the silence with her own voice, gently. 

“I used to feel that way about myself, in a way.”  She had also thought for quite some time—been certain, actually—that the world was wrong instead.  Vishkar had shaken that.  She no longer knew where she stood and the thought caused her fingers to grip more tightly against him as a gentle crease formed on her brow.  It was not something she had intended to think about, not with Jamison tucked against her neck anyway, but the thought took her over all the same until his voice pulled her from it.

He had been perfectly still, listening intently and, she imagined, thinking.  Eventually a gentle mumble came from him that betrayed his puzzlement.  “Why’d ya think that?”

Her mind felt sluggish to catch up and slower still to find an acceptable response that avoided the topic of Vishkar entirely.  Vishkar and the repercussions that came with it.

She lowered her gaze to the ground.  “I am… not always the best with people.  With…”  She paused for a moment and followed it with a frustrated sigh.  “I suppose the past few days would be a reasonable example.  I may have said… or done some hurtful things.”  It seemed unfair, as if she didn’t deserve it, but she offered a defense of herself anyway, quieter.  “It wasn’t my intention, but I understand that it makes it no less hurtful.”

The new avenue of thought was no less true than the former one and though it hurt less it was still difficult to consider.  But it was something that needed to be addressed and it was so much easier with him tucked out of sight, with his breath slow and gentle and warm on her neck.  It was easier to think and find the words and plan the way she wanted to say them and she was relieved at the simple fact before she’d even managed to broach the topic.

“What I said.  Before.  When I said that isn’t what I want….”  Before everything went so terribly wrong, she thought.  A thought she didn’t voice.  “How can I explain it…” 

_Harmony._   The word felt oddly flimsy and unreliable, not at all like it had been before, and it was a difficult and new enough idea on its own, something she was still trying to wrap her head around, that it made her voice uncertain as she tried to struggle through it, her stare pointed forward, unfocused, and a heavy crease on her brow that she was grateful he couldn’t see.

“You were so upset before.  After Junkertown.  I would rather understand why.  I believe I do, now.”  And it was true, that feeling that perhaps she did understand things, finally—after everything in Junkertown and after.  Why he had behaved the way he had and why it would have been unfair and perhaps even cruel to demand otherwise.  Once the words started they built a slow but gradual momentum and she found she was surprisingly content to let them continue. 

“I would prefer that, I think.”  Her fingers moved through his hair gingerly to match the nature of her speculation.  She still wasn’t certain if it was the right answer, but it seemed far preferable to the alternative.  To what the past few days had held.  The way his fingers pressed more tightly against her back—small points of pressure—barely registered in her consciousness and her lips turned downward in a faint frown and her voice dropped to a lower volume with it.  “I know what it’s like to feel misunderstood.”

He was silent and still save for his grip and the slight shudder to the breath he released and he didn’t answer and she was fine with that.  It may have actually been better. 

“I _am_ sorry.  For kissing you.  I should not have done it.”   Even with the relative calm her pulse jumped at the memory, just slightly.  “I believe it may have been misguided.”

There was a long pause before he answered with clear hesitation, still murmuring the words into her skin.  “… why did you?  Kiss me, I mean.”

An unexpected feeling of distress shot through her in a heady mixture of confusion and dismay.  She had thought he understood.  After everything.  For the second time the emotion made her voice sound faintly pleading and more vulnerable than she liked.  “I thought it would help…”

“Nah, I mean… that first time.  King’s Row.”

Satya’s body went immediately stiff in his grip with sudden horror and her arms reflexively curled tighter around him as if afraid he might withdraw and she would have to look at him.  Or, conversely, she would have to be looked _at_.  Examined.  She didn’t answer and there was obvious confusion in his voice as he tried to pull away, just once, and abandoned the idea when she gripped him tighter.

“… Satya?”

She swallowed her initial response.  She had thought about it before, more than a few times, and had reached one main conclusion.  One that seemed as if it might make him upset.  And besides, they were words she would have to think about crafting correctly.  An unhealthy dose of avoidance might also have been involved.  With everything else—his disappearance, his return, what had happened—it seemed exhausting and insurmountable.  Her voice felt shallow and small.

“Can we talk about it some other time?”

The pause was longer than she liked.  “… oh.”  The disappointment in it was obvious and she thought perhaps there was hurt there, as well.  It was a special kind of torment that rekindled that dull ache in her chest. “Sure, a’right.” 

Her thoughts had stalled and left her insensate to the world and she wasn’t certain how long the quiet went on before his arms suddenly pulled tighter around her at the small of her back and without warning her feet were leaving the ground as he lifted her with a grunt and started trudging forward until she was pressed gently against the wall, her hands still wrapped around him, though less so to keep him against her and moreso to keep her balance.  The metal of his prosthetic was slightly uncomfortable against her back but not unmanageable and mostly cushioned by his left arm pressed tight against her body.  It was crushing, almost, and oddly comforting.  And it was unexpected and inexplicable enough that it jogged her mind from its preoccupation and brought the world rushing back as her thoughts were forcibly shaken off.  She caught her breath.

“Jamie?  What are you—”

“Just thought I’d bring some levity to the situation.”

His voice was still a bit muffled, pressed up against her chest as he was.  It had been surprisingly light with a tone she couldn’t quite decipher and she blinked, staring down at the top of his head as her grip slowly went slack and her mind struggled to identify it—not at all helped by the fact that his face was still out of sight.  Her response was a bit slow in coming and her tone was beset with mystification, fairly certain she couldn’t possibly have the correct understanding.

“… was that a pun?” 

She hadn’t even caught her bearings and his voice followed hers without any pause whatsoever.

“Thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”  She was still staring down at him as he lifted his head, his chin tipping to the side and his expression distinctly pleased with himself as he looked up at her, a lopsided, self-satisfied smile on his face.

A sound escaped her.  It wasn’t a laugh so much as it was an abrupt release of air, drawn out of her by sheer incredulity, and she was having trouble finding her voice.

“You can’t possibly…”

“Somethin’ about bein’ uplifting, maybe?”

She physically cringed at it once she recognized it.  To her dismay he seemed to revel in her reaction and she braced herself as he went on.

“That better?”

“It’s _far_ worse.”

“Sorry, just wanted to lighten the mood.”

She didn’t want to encourage him but her eyes slipped shut as she pressed her lips firmly together and her expression began to fail and she realized she couldn’t stop it—a mutinous smile took over her features as she opened her eyes to look back to him, resigned, and found him with a broad grin on his face in return.

Somehow she couldn’t find a hint of anything from the past two days in it.

It was unfathomable.  She gave up on trying to unriddle it happily and tried to keep the amusement from her voice.

“You can stop now.”

“That’s a tall order.  Not sure if I can, love.”

She didn’t have time to prepare for it; the laugh that bubbled out of her was sudden and loud and unrestrained and she raised a hand to try to hide it as best she could but it was light and exuberant and horribly _obvious_ and she gave in helplessly, small tremors moving through her body as she tried to catch her breath and compose herself, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly.  Perhaps it was simply the relief but for a moment her mind was perfectly clear.  She took in a deep breath that felt like the first full one she had taken in days and it all left her feeling light.

It took her a bit longer to fully recover and the warm smile remained.  She wasn’t interested in forcing it away and her voice was lower for it, a quiet chuckle somehow managing its way into the words as well.  “I think you’ve succeeded.”  Her hands pressed gently against his shoulders with the quiet request.  “You can put me down, now.”

He hesitated, looking up at her, his eyes flitting downward as if in thought before he complied, lowering her slowly and reluctantly leaning away.  She was forced to look up at him in her slippers as he fixed his posture, her head tilting to the side just slightly as she did so, attempting to decode the look on his face.  Satisfied, certainly.  But oddly timid as well.  He was easier to look at, somehow.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of grit under her slippered feet and she looked down, an eyebrow raising in puzzlement.  “… is that sand?”

“Bloody ‘ell.”  He stared at his prosthetic arm as he raised it, watching intently as he rolled the wrist and wriggled the fingers.  A few small grains sprinkled to the floor accompanied by a near-inaudible grinding noise and he lowered his voice to a mildly irritated mutter.  “That’s gonna be comin’ out for weeks.” 

She fixed him with a calculating, amused smile.  “You were at the beach?”

“… might’ve visited it.”

The way his eyes had widened was intriguing but his expression had begun to look discomfited and it was surprising how much she wanted to rid him of it; she tried again and hoped something a bit more playful came through.

“Without me?”

He raised his eyes in a quick, uncertain glance to her before his lips quirked upward uncertainly and his prosthetic hand lifted and hesitated, paused in the air for a moment before he moved it forward and tugged gingerly at the cloth of her shirt.  Preoccupied, in a way.  Like it wasn’t quite what he had wanted to do. 

It was a clumsy gesture that she couldn’t tell the meaning of and he withdrew the hand and pulled it toward his chest without lowering it.  Rather than puzzle over it she leaned in a bit closer to him and took the opportunity to reach up and carefully adjust the collar of his shirt and it prompted him to tentatively run a knuckle along the skin of her arm, as if testing it.  The light touch was unexpected and sent a shiver through her that distracted her, at first, from the words.

“I ain’t misunderstandin’, am I?”

She blinked as her attention was drawn back to him.  She wasn’t sure what to make of it.  Her frown was faint but there all the same.  “I’m sorry… I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean… is this the part where we kiss and make up?”

Her hands were still at his collar and she lowered her eyes to it, holding it tighter between her thumbs and forefingers.  It was unexpected, though she couldn’t define why.  It wasn’t an unwelcome thought at all.  “It can be, if you’d like.”  Some of her decisions to take initiative had been less-than-stellar, however.  She would rather not take the risk.  “I’d rather you decide.”

The movement of his hands—his knuckles tapping against each other—was still awkward and unsure even as his head tipped back in a single, animated laugh.  “Makin’ me an offer I can’t resist, ‘ere.”

He hadn’t moved, though.  She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment longer before making a decision. 

“Here.”  Satya pulled his prosthetic arm behind to loop it carefully around her waist and brought his left hand up, settling it along the curve of her jaw before her own retreated back to the fabric of his shirt and it was clear enough, a gentle prompt that he could take or leave as he chose.  His eyes lowered to her lips and lingered there for a long moment before he leaned forward, pulling her closer at the same time, and pressed his lips against hers.

It was tentative at first.  Unsteady, as if neither of them were sure where they stood but he held her a bit more confidently with each passing second and she was pleased to find that each brush of air that stroked her skin was slow and deep and thorough, his chest rising and falling in even, metered breaths under her fists and her head and her chest felt light, like the final remnants of an expansive weight had been lifted.  It was fantastic. 

Despite her preoccupation a thought raised itself up in Satya’s mind: it had been far, _far_ more than the five minutes Lena agreed to.  It was a fact that she attempted to push away but it was unyielding, and while Lena had to know a reasonable extent of herself and Jamison’s involvement it would be something entirely different to be caught in their bunk, pinned between Jamison and the wall, his lips still on her own and their bodies tangled together.

It was enough for her to shake the slightly muddled feeling in her head and snap her mind back into focus.

It took a great deal of willpower but she pulled away, lifting her chin to escape Jamison’s lips, but he didn’t seem at all disappointed in the new angle and they found the underside of her jaw instead, pressing small kisses against her skin.  Even with the goal of breaking away from him she wasn’t concerned about the way her smile lent its tone to her weakly chiding murmur.

“Lena will be coming back.”

His voice was distant but the reply came quickly.  “Lemme put down a trap.”

She laughed, a sound that burst out of her without restraint, a genuine and relieved thing that ended in a gasp of air.  “That’s _terrible_.”

He pressed the response into her skin with a murmur but she could feel the smile against her skin.  “Never said I was any good.”

She preferred to blame the laugh for disrupting her breath. 

The greater issue was the way his prosthetic hand had looped under her thigh and begun to pull it upward, forcing her to rely more heavily on the wall and the hand at her side, the fingers pressed against her ribs to hold her balance, Jamison’s body nestling closely against hers.  Her mind was distracted but she spoke anyway, an eyebrow raising with the question.

“Are you trying to get out of talking to Winston?”

A laugh burst out of him, a staggering, panting thing that rushed past her ear and his prosthetic hand left her thigh to press against the wall instead as if he needed it there to keep his balance, the fingers of his left hand still coiled loosely in the fabric of her pajamas.  He pulled away, still trying to catch his breath as he ran a finger under his left eye as if wiping away moisture.  It was a weightless sound.  It was remarkably satisfying.  He was still trying to catch his breath as he spoke.

“Wasn’t the plan.  Would it work, though?”

Her fingers were still coiled in the fabric of his shirt.  She blinked at them and released him abruptly, realizing she might not be as dissuasive as she had thought and she tried to make her voice firm as she disentangled herself from him carefully and wasn’t sure if it worked.  “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Dammit.  All me best laid plans an’ all ‘a that.”

Still, he withdrew and took a few steps back without looking away from her, only eventually glancing toward the door.  Satya pushed gently off of the wall, running her hands down the fabric of her pajamas to smooth it, and entirely missed the way he moved away until he was out of her field of view.

She looked up to him and found him standing near the doorway, his fingers curled carefully around the small box, staring wordlessly down at it.  She had forgotten the earrings entirely.  The sight of the box brought back the way he had looked when she had neglected his apology and she followed after him, closing the gap to the doorway.  He cleared his throat quietly.

“Not sure if you want these, but I’d rather you kept ‘em.”  He pressed the box toward her on the palm of a mechanical hand, held somewhat at a distance from himself and she inched closer to him, refusing to allow the space between them to stay.  She took the box in her hand and let the fingers of her gauntlet linger on the metal of his prosthetic as she lowered her eyes to the box, opting to watch it instead.

“I’m so sorry.  I meant to thank you.”

“’S’alright.  Think you had other things on your mind.”  The mutter trailed off as he glanced at the box in her hands and hesitated before nodding towards it.  He hadn’t moved away and she failed to recognize it for what it was—stalling—even with the slowly-growing anxiety in his tone and in the way the muscles of his shoulders had begun to tense.

“Got Winston a cake that says ‘sorry I tried to punch ya in the face’ on it.  Peanut-butter, of course.” 

It was said so straight-faced that she glanced up at him with an inquisitively narrowed eye.  “… did you?”

“Nah.”  A quiet giggle slipped from him as he brought his hands to his hips.  “Good idea though, ain’t it?  Wish I’d had it sooner.  Maybe I should try it.”

“Simple apologies seem like they might work best.”

He considered the suggestion before wrinkling his nose and curling his lips over the words in distaste.  “… well I ain’t kissin’ ‘im.”

She couldn’t help the faint laugh that came with her appraising look.  “I don’t think that’s a requirement.”

A silence followed as she watched him.  It was too subtle, at first, but the longer he stared at the box in her hands the more obvious his unease became and the haunted look to him remained as he lowered his gaze to the floor and stood still, unmoving, his hands on his hips and his feet frozen on the ground.  The reason became clear quickly enough.

“… do I have’ta go?”

Satya’s smile faded slowly as she searched his features and she pursed her lips together, a furrow creasing her brow in thought.  “I’m afraid so.” 

Another faint twitch moved through him, his hands raising again to the sides of his chest, fingers loosely curled, and his eyes remained pointed downward and slightly unfocused.  “He’s gonna be mad.  Even Lena was mad.”  The sudden realization came with obvious dread as his eyes snapped up to her.  “Is everyone mad?”

“Everyone was _worried_.”  The words didn’t seem to help.  She narrowed an eye, considering him.  He hadn’t acknowledged what she’d said, only running his fingertips against one-another, his blank stare rising to a point above her head as his lips pulled back to reveal worried, gritted teeth, his chest rising and falling more quickly, however subtly.

“How much trouble do ya think I’m in?”

 “Nothing that can’t be fixed.” 

“D’ya think they even want me back?”  The distress was creeping back in and it was disquieting to watch.

If her assurances didn’t help she had few other ideas except one.  Hoping to interrupt his thoughts, she trained her voice to something gentle and patient nonetheless.  “Do you remember ‘that breathing thing’?”

It took a moment before his gaze flicked back down to her, his eyes wide but focused.  His head dipped in a quick, emphatic nod.

“Now would be a good time to practice it.”

His stare drifted away again and he sucked in some air, cheeks puffing as his breathing came to an abrupt halt, his chest rising as well as he held it in.

It was absolutely impossible to hold back her laugh, despite her concern.  He looked ridiculous.  “That’s not…”  She tried again, letting the laugh come to an end, speaking more gently.  “That won’t help.”

There was a puzzled, troubled look to them as his eyes dropped back to her, centering on her, brow furrowed, cheeks still puffed.

“You’ll have to let go of it eventually.”  She reached up and cupped her hand just an inch from his lips, pressing gingerly in on his cheeks with her thumb and fingers.  A wry, amused smile found its place on her expression as the air escaped him with a loud whoosh.  His chest fell.  It would have to do.  She pulled her hand away and watched him carefully, eyes drifting over his features.  He was looking at her with that same bemused expression she had seen before but with something else in it.  Something like disbelief.  She couldn’t entirely decipher it but it seemed… good.  Strange, but good. 

“Next time simply breathe more slowly.”  She placed the flat of her palm against his abdomen to demonstrate.  “Deeper, with your belly.”  He looked down at her hand on his stomach and she removed it carefully, a strange sensation in her own.  “We can work on it.”

He nodded, silent, apparently not quite having found his voice.  At the very least he seemed calmer.  She reached up with some effort to smooth his hair and he leaned into the touch, lowering his head slightly to make it easier, her smile losing any hint of wryness as affection overtook it instead.  There was the temptation to not let him go but she supposed he had to eventually.

“They don’t think you were wrong, you know.  What you did in Junkertown.  Not necessarily, anyway.  Perhaps not the approach itself, but at least your reasoning for it.”

There was surprise in it, the way he slowly straightened, an arm bent to bring his prosthetic hand uncertainly up towards his chest in a loose fist.  “Really?”

“Lena told me.”

He pursed his lips together in thought for a long moment before glancing up at her, his voice a bit more quiet than before.  “What about you?”

“I was uncomfortable with any of you going into the arenas.  It seemed like a bad idea.”

The breath he took was stronger as his eyes dropped to the floor and she was certain he was still mulling over the new information and she saw her chance, closing the scant distance quickly and leaning into him to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.  He didn’t wince or recoil—his eye winked shut and as she withdrew his gaze followed her, his lips curved in a crooked, pleased smile that stayed even after she pulled away, even as the thoughtful look came back to him and left him with a strange expression, a mix of satisfaction and distraction and sheepishness all at once.

“It will be alright.”  It was a reach, but she settled a few more stray hairs before stepping back and looking at him again, her eyes searching the contours of his face.  His thoughts were clearly elsewhere and she supposed it was likely for the better, but it seemed worthwhile to make a request anyway.  “Get some sleep tonight, please.”

The nod was slow in coming but he got to it eventually and his response was somewhat breathy and distracted when it came.  “Yeah.  Yeah, sure.”  A metal arm reached up absent-mindedly and ran through his hair, scratching his head and mussing all of the progress she had made as he stepped backward into the hallway, finally lifting his eyes to her and rejoining reality as his lips curled upward in a lopsided smile that seemed stronger than before.  “G’night, love.”

She leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms gently over her chest as she watched him, still retreating with backward steps.  There was a warm feeling in it, in the way he slipped his hands gingerly in his pockets and the way he stood straighter and the way he didn’t take his eyes off of her until he had reached the corner where he paused, that same soft smile on his face, and she murmured the words quietly to him even through the distance.

“Goodnight, Jamie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly so, so sorry this took so long.
> 
> between the holidays (urgh) and just… a ton of unfortunate family stuff it’s just been kind of hard to get a solid schedule down you know?
> 
> This one was really hard for me? It’s far from perfect but I hope it’s still ok. Although I’m worried a little if it’s too much/too long. And the pacing’s ok. I worry it’s a bit slow and I’m up for revising it at some point in the future. Also sorry for repetitive phrasing… it’s something I’m trying to work on but I think I might just be bad at it? I’m just. Not entirely confident in it.
> 
> I hurt myself a lot with this chapter. Like a lot. I feel like there’s a lot of very delicate stuff in here that I tried to handle delicately. I don’t know if I made Satya’s thoughts clear? They were complicated for me to get through so I hope I expressed them in a somewhat sensical way? Anyway…
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> In which Jamie tries to do what he thinks Satya wants him to do (just SHOVING EVERYTHING DOWN AND FORCIBLY SUPPRESSING IT AND NOT LETTING IT HAPPEN ANYMORE) and Satya tries to do what she thinks Jamie wants her to do (actually addressing the issue) and it goes about as well as you’d expect 
> 
> Tonight’s theme is avoidance, and how it can make things much, much worse. And how it’s generally a very bad idea. And not all of it is resolved. Whoops.
> 
> Soooo…. Jamie went on a bit of a bender, or maybe relapse is a better word?
> 
> I doubt anyone’s ever really tried to help Jamie with stress/anxiety coping mechanisms and the idea is totally foreign to him so this thing Satya tried was all rather surprising, even if he isn’t sure if he actually thinks there’s a point to it or not. Like I doubt the team has tried too much, maybe because they’ve been uncertain how he’d take any attempts to help until recently, because I honestly don’t know how well he’d take it (see the whole thing in the hangar) until something made him REALLY think he needed it.
> 
> I also don’t think Jamie would have any particularly strong reason to believe anything with his behavior was wrong (aka not realizing/thinking anything was ‘wrong’ with him (pardon the phrasing) given that he spent the last like 15 years or something in an environment where what he did worked well enough to keep him alive at any rate, and it’s pretty much all he’s known for most of his life, until he starts spending time with a group like Overwatch and feeling like he was ‘wrong’ all of the time because he does things/approaches things/processes things differently than pretty much everyone else in the group and I figure he’d really start to feel that way and it would probably come to a head after something like Junkertown and it can’t be a good feeling so… existential crisis?
> 
> Also I don’t really think Jamie’s ever had that much to lose so he hasn’t had to deal with this kind of anxiety quite so potently before. Not just losing Satya, either. 
> 
> p.s. he’s still angry but other emotions took major precedence.
> 
> Also Jamie’s phrasing of “I know you didn’t mean anything by it” might have been more accidentally telling than he realized.
> 
> In which Satya’s most recent kiss (in the previous chapter) casts all prior ones under suspicion. And Satya has every intention of avoiding the repercussions/fails to notice/doesn’t deal with it.
> 
> In which Jamie asks a question he’s been wondering about since literally chapter 1 of Give Me A Try. And doesn’t get an answer.
> 
> In which Jamie tries it Satya’s way and it threatens to cause a catastrophe and Satya realizes/begins to think there really might be merit in what those omnics said back in GMAT and that maybe there’s more than one path to harmony, and maybe they aren’t all created equal... and tries something different. I don’t know if I managed to express that very well in the chapter itself. I hope I did.
> 
> Also I don’t think anyone can really blame Satya for shutting down a little when she’s hit with a major revelation that affects like… some of her most deeply-held beliefs/philosophies right in the center? And while the boy she likes is having a meltdown at the same time. Like… sorry, Satya. I’m not nice.
> 
> I cut out a lot of Satya’s like… internal monologue actually. I think it was getting too in depth and I doubt it would be something she would let herself ruminate on too much while in this position.
> 
> Things should also calm down a bit word-count wise, that’s not a promise I should make but the next couple of chapters at least should be less ridiculously long
> 
> idk if these long author’s notes are anybody’s jam or not, let me know
> 
> not to be ultra sappy or anything but… [inside out by the chainsmokers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oygNmMISdC0)
> 
> There’s far less pain in the next chapter. Better times are ahead I promise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff I think we all deserve it

By morning word had spread to the team that the Junkers were back and they would be returning to Gibraltar, and it took very little time for everyone to gather their things and meet in the hangar, packing what little there was to take into the ship and prepping for takeoff.  The air was certainly a bit awkward despite the buzz of eager energy underlying it—the relief of being back in Gibraltar on the horizon—enough so that it was clear to her in the way that the team was a bit quiet, the way everyone seemed to be muted but also somehow lighter, and the way no one seemed entirely focused on the few tasks they had to take care of before leaving. 

The Junkers showed up last of all of them.  Jamison was back in his harness and shorts, the articles of clothing just as dusty as when they had left the Outback, and he hovered uneasily on the outskirts of the room next to Roadhog with his prosthetic hand curled around the back of his neck and his back straight, his eyes wide and distracted all at once.  She couldn’t help but wonder if there had been some reprimand from Winston… some promise of punishment once they were safely back to the base, but the thought of pursuing the question with Jamison was quickly put a stop to; that, at least, she knew was a terrible idea. 

They only shared a brief glance.  Satya smiled and he clearly attempted to return it, his lips quirking up at a corner, his teeth bared in something more like a lopsided grimace when the expression failed to reach his eyes, and promptly seemed to give up on it.  As he stood stock-still near the entry to the hangar Winston came into view unsubtly from where he had been collecting their supplies and moved behind him.  The gorilla clapped a large hand down on Jamison’s shoulder as he passed by in what was likely intended to be a comforting gesture that made Jamison jump all the same, his body going briefly rigid and his fingers curling loosely toward his palms before he was released.  He hadn’t, apparently, noticed or been prepared for the gorilla’s presence.  But she wondered if he would have had a similar reaction all the same.

It was better not to worry much about, particularly as there seemed to be little she could actually do, at least with everyone else present.  She turned her thoughts and attention away as best she could without entirely succeeding, helping to load the remainder of the supplies with only the occasional sidelong glance, each of them revealing a certain stiffness in Jamison’s demeanor.

But it was better than it had been by far and despite the skittishness Jamison eventually settled into a seat between Roadhog and Lena.  Satya opted to sit across the ship.  There were a lot of reasons, some that were clear to her and some that were not, and none of which she wanted particularly to dwell on given how taxing the previous three days had been.  She didn’t necessarily want to be seen too close to him, although she wouldn’t have been able to explain why—there was little point in trying to create a distance after everything that had happened, after all.  But it would be easier for her to keep an eye on him, let her try to decipher what residual things she could that she felt as if she had missed if she so chose.  Perhaps more importantly, it didn’t hurt that somehow the physical distance gave her time to herself, a remoteness from the previous night, which had been exhausting in more ways than one, however good the outcome had ultimately been.  Besides, Jamison seemed as though he was in good hands with the others.

Satya was happy to share short conversations with Angela and Reinhardt, particularly as the mood began a subtle shift as the hours wore on, the space filling with the slow return of conversation, the lighter tones in their voices, the tentative smiles and quiet laughs.  The words were all soft and comfortable and distracting and required little thought which made them far less demanding for her already-tired mind.

Jamison spent the first couple of hours of the trip looking awkward and nervous and laughing a bit too loudly but the more Lena kept him busy the less tightly wound his body seemed to become, and once night fell—surprisingly—he slept.  It made it easier for her to do the same, as uncomfortable as it was to do so on the ship but unfortunately just as unavoidable. 

The previous few days began to fade into what felt like a stressful dream that she was more than happy to wake from and as they descended into the hangar at Gibraltar the familiarity and promise of her own bed—her own space—brought far more relief than she expected.  They all tumbled out of the ship in various levels of alertness into a base lit by a welcoming Athena.  Everyone was a bit disoriented, really, and they all went about the business of making themselves feel normal again by whatever method suited them most.  For Satya, food came first—and came with the company of Angela and Torbjorn—and the team staggered in at odd intervals to take what they needed.  Satya made tea, soaking in the warmth of it.  Neither of the Junkers showed up.  It wasn’t terribly surprising given everything, and Jamison was often late or absent for meals as it was.  Satya walked by the workshop after, but Jamison wasn’t there either.  Despite it, it didn’t seem like anything worth worrying about.  They were all still a bit adrift, in their own ways. ~~~~

What was left of the day somehow passed by far more quickly than expected between unpacking and settling back in, and as night approached she opted for a long shower that did wonders to wash off nearly everything that had left a mark on her over the previous few days, both physical and mental.  By the time she laid down and nestled between her sheets everything had begun to feel like it was in its correct place and the world was whole again and soon enough it slipped away to give her the first true respite she had felt for days.

 

* * *

 

Satya woke up early and blissfully on her usual schedule, something that both seemed miraculous on its own considering the irregularity of the previous few days and the time zone changes, and did a great deal to calm her residual uneasiness.  It was a comfort to wake up in her own bed, in the solitude of her room, the light filtering gently through the blinds.  To be somewhere that felt like home.  It made it easier to get out of bed, to comb her hair, and to slip into her uniform—a spare, the same blue color she regularly wore—something that made her realize she had left much of her belongings, including her civilian clothes, on the drop ship.  It would have to be her first stop once her morning routine was complete.

It was quiet and calm in the hangar when she entered and she allowed herself a moment to look over the ship, taking in the thin, stubborn film of dust still on it with a wrinkle of her nose.  It would need cleaning.  She felt herself better suited to other tasks… although she wasn’t certain yet what those might be.  Something would come up, she was sure.  The team was usually quite accommodating to her and the fact didn’t escape her or go without her gratitude.  No one would be upset if she skipped the filthier jobs, she knew, but she still felt the slight pang of guilt anyway as she made her way toward the ramp.

Her eyes caught on something just in her field of vision along the curve of the metal hull and she paused to look up.  She had nearly missed it; the paint Jamison had applied to the drop ship had been half-removed, leaving part of it still in a bright flash of yellow design and the other half with nothing but a ghost of the shape that had been there before, faded and dim in the mid-light of the hangar.

The sound of heavy steps pulled her attention away before she could think much on it.  Reinhardt was coming down the ramp.

“Good morning!”

She winced, only from lack of preparation.  It was hard not to, sometimes; the man could be so incredibly loud, which could be surprising when unexpected.  It did nothing to lessen her affection; he always seemed to mean well. 

She offered him a friendly smile and lifted a hand to gesture up at the side of the ship.  “Did you do this?”

“Ah!  No, I found it like this this morning.”  He shifted his weight, his large hands balled into fists and coming to rest against his hips, arms akimbo and a broad smile on his face.  “I’m guessing the boy did it overnight.  I would have helped if I’d known.”

It was not the answer she had expected, although she wouldn’t have been able to explain why.  She blinked up at the remaining paint thoughtfully.  “I see.”

Reinhardt followed her gaze and considered it for a moment before going on.  “We’ll probably have it cleaned up before he’s awake.”

She dropped her eyes back to him.  “We?”

“Yes!”  The large man’s features were overtaken by a broad smile typical of his enthusiasm.  “The dwarf wanted to help.  I told him that I would let him stand on my shoulders.”

She wasn’t certain if he was serious or not.  She offered him a dry look to be safe.  “We _have_ a ladder.”  A second, more important thought came to her and she firmed her tone to make it more disapproving.  “And you _know_ he doesn’t like to be called that.”

Reinhardt burst out in a characteristic, booming laugh.  Combined with his positivity it was difficult to hold anything against him. 

“True, perhaps.  But you are _all_ dwarves to me.”  He lowered a hand, let it hover just above her head, palm flat and his stare both good-natured and appraising, as if measuring her stature.

Satya breathed a gentle huff of air and brushed his hand away in a gesture that was both fond and dismissive, raising an eyebrow with it.  “Don’t forget Mako.”

He granted her another laugh, this one deeper and more amused.  “I suppose you’ve right.  And Winston.”

She offered him a faint smile and he continued on, thoughtful, as if only realizing something.  “Jamison is also very tall.  When he stands up straight.”

He wasn’t _wrong_.  But there was something puzzling about the statement, or moreso his tone as he made it and the attentive look he had settled on her, making it seem entirely out of place.  A small crease formed on her brow as she looked at him, attempting to decipher whatever was behind it.  It made her reply a bit hesitant.  “Yes… I suppose that is true.”

“Nothing like me, but still quite a giant to you, isn’t he?”

That warranted more scrutiny and she took in a breath as a beat of silence passed.  The suspicion that built was gentle, dulled slightly by confusion but not able to escape a sense of slight unease.  There was certainly something different in his expression than usual.  The same things, actually—his typical enthusiasm and mirth—but enhanced.  Tweaked, slightly, in a way she hadn’t seen. 

Her smile faded slowly.  There was indecision there as her teeth worked at the inside of her cheek.  The purposeful juxtaposition of herself and Jamison stated so explicitly was suddenly obvious, and she had no doubts about the suggestion that was hidden under it.  Quite a bit of her wanted to distance herself.  There was a small, gentle voice that said otherwise.  That perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible, if not to respond in kind, to succumb to a moderate teasing, then at least not to deny anything. 

It wasn’t, however, a conversation she was terribly keen to have so early in the morning.  True, she sometimes had difficulty following things—but feigned ignorance was quite a useful tool as a result. 

“I’m not sure what you mean…”

“Oh!” His face registered a brief confusion, a fleeting apology, his expression still enthused but a bit more hesitant.  “You and—”

Brigitte’s head popped out abruptly from the other side of the drop ship’s ramp.

“ _Reinhardt._   Are you bothering her?”

The large man started and seemed as shocked as Satya was and turned partially to look at Brigitte.

“Ah!  No!  Or… I don’t think so.”

Satya was glad for the distraction and blinked at the other woman, who stepped fully into view on the ramp and crossed her arms over her chest, watching Reinhardt closely and fixing him with a sharp stare.

“It sure seems like you are.”

Before any words could escape him he seemed to realize he had already lost and backed off with an awkward smile, raising two broad hands, palms out in a gesture meant to appease either Brigitte or herself.  Perhaps both.

“Aha!  I just meant…”  The large man was clearly searching for a way out.  Turning to Satya with a floundering, apologetic smile and a half-shrug, he scratched his head, not certain what to do, and—unable to find anything to help—he finished lamely in a way that sounded almost baffled at himself.  “Well, he _is_ tall.”

Brigitte’s voice drew her attention and Satya caught the woman wearing an exasperated look.  “Don’t mind him.  He’s a bit of a brick wall, in more ways than one.”

It would have been difficult to subdue her smirk at the idea and Satya didn’t bother.  “I see.” 

Reinhardt, for his part, looked a bit cowed as he attempted to change the subject.  “Ah… well, anyway.  This ought to put the boy in a better mood.  Ease his nerves.”  His features turned to a broad smile that was beyond friendly, even if no less embarrassed. 

He was clearly in need of a lifeline.  Brigitte sighed from her place at the top of the ramp and Satya caught her rolling her eyes.  “Come on, big guy.  Help me out with this until Torbjörn gets here.  It was nice to see you, Satya.”  Her smile was friendly and calm as offered it to Satya before turning and starting back into the ship.

Reinhardt was left alone again with Satya and blinked, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck with a still-uncertain but dogged smile.  “Angela’s making breakfast.  Pancakes!  They’re very good.”  She looked at him curiously but didn’t get the chance to speak before he continued on.  “No need to worry about this.  Torbjörn and I will get it cleaned up!”

She realized she’d seemed vaguely… ungracious for his intention to help, even though it wasn’t her task to take on.  She tempered her words with gratitude.  “Thank you, Reinhardt.  That’s very kind of you.”

“Of course!”

Brigitte’s voice drifted out from inside the hull.  “ _Rein_ hardt!”

He looked immediately sheepish.  It was an entertaining look on the large man, rare and unexpected.  He lifted both of his hands to offer Satya two distinctly out-of-place thumbs-up as he started to move back onto the ship, still watching her as he retreated.

“Go!  Eat!”

It was sound advice but it was clearly a distraction meant to aid his escape and she shifted her weight, resting a hand on her hip.  The words came with a why smile she couldn’t quite help.  “I will.”

She watched him until he was out of sight.  After a pause in the newly-settling silence her eyes drifted back to the remaining paint on the hull thoughtfully, tracing over the barely-discernable remains of the symbol Jamison had painted.  It was just a memory of it, really, already faded, scraped away with clear effort and care.  She lingered on the thought for a moment longer before allowing it, too, to fade and headed for the door of the hangar, stepping quietly into the hallway.  It wasn’t until she was a short distance down the corridor that she realized she had entirely forgotten what she had gone to the hangar for and muttered a muted curse under her breath.  It would be strange to go back in and most certainly uncomfortable having to confront them again so she sighed and gave up on it for the time being, heading to the dining hall where the promise of food and company waited.

 

* * *

 

The sound of voices drifted down the hallway toward Satya in a low murmur, the words indiscernible but filling the space with the lilting hums of pleasant conversation.  She nearly ran into Torbjörn as she rounded the corner at the door, stopping in her tracks just in time, and they stared at each other for a moment before she felt a quiet laugh slip from her, the sound matching his own, deeper chuckle.  She stepped to the side to let him through.

“I believe Reinhardt’s waiting for you.”

The short man moved past her with heavy steps and a low grumble.  “Wouldn’t have to wait if he didn’t inhale his breakfast…”

Satya recognized it didn’t require a response.  Instead her lips curved gently in a smile he wouldn’t see and she turned her eyes forward, rounding the corner to the dining room more carefully.  Lena zipped over with a plate of pancakes with unnatural speed even for her, not even allowing Satya time to take in the rest of the room, and held it out for her to take.

“Here you go, love!”

It was impossible not to smile after she’d been given the chance to take it all in and she accepted the plate with care.  “Thank you, Lena.”

The woman practically bounced as she flashed her a wink and darted backward, resuming a spot next to one of the tables as Angela appeared from the kitchen, carrying a pitcher.  Satya sat down and Lena did the same.  It was unhurried and it settled her nerves after the conversation in the hangar.

Angela’s smile was full of its usual pleasantness as she placed the pitcher on the table in front of her.  “Good morning, Satya.”

“Good morning.”

The other woman slid into a seat opposite her, beside Lena.  There was a pause that allowed Satya to begin her breakfast, just enough that the lull in conversation wasn’t awkward but rather uncannily polite.  “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yes, thank you.”  She could hear the relief in her own voice, the smile it put on her features.  She hadn’t realized how much of a relief it really was.

“I’m glad to hear it.  I’m hoping everyone did, now that we’re back.”

Lena’s voice pulled Satya from her preoccupation and when she lifted her head the other woman was looking at her with a bright smile.  “Well, it was certainly nice to sleep in my own bed again.” 

Satya’s voice was tinged with a low chuckle.  “I can’t help but agree.”

“As far as roommates go though, you were a dream!  I don’t think I’ve ever had a more peaceful shared room.”  Lena paused thoughtfully, just briefly enough that it made her addition jarring.  “Well, aside from Jamison visiting, anyway.”

Satya froze.  She wasn’t even certain why, but the statement came as a shock and the same uncertain, uncomfortable and slightly off-balance feeling that had welled up in her in the hangar returned, stronger and more obvious.  Coming so quickly on the heels of Reinhardt’s behavior likely hadn’t helped it.

Lena noticed, clearly.  Her eyes widened and she pulled herself straight, blinking before she continued on a bit more hastily in a way that made it clear she had misinterpreted Satya’s shock.  “Oh!  Not that I minded!  I just… well, he was there for so long...”

Satya failed to adequately monitor her expression and she knew as much as her eyes slowly widened in an odd mixture of emotions.  Surprise.  Confliction.  And confusion at the reaction itself.  It left her momentarily speechless, focused silently on Lena with a blank stare.

Lena paused and fixed her with a stare of her own and a hastily-applied, apologetic smile.  “I just meant because he stopped by so _late_ and—”  Seeming to realize the hole she was digging, the other woman’s mouth snapped abruptly shut.  “Nevermind.”

Angela stepped in, allowing just enough of a pause to keep it from seeming rushed.  “I hope you don’t mind, Satya, but I wanted to thank you.”

It took Satya a moment to fully shift her focus to Angela.  She found herself a bit slow to respond, still off-balance and not entirely following.  “I’m sorry?”

“Lena told me that you spoke with Jamison, after he came back to the base.”

She already knew.  Her emotions struggled for a moment; Angela stated it so simply, as if it were such a straightforward, expected thing.  A foregone conclusion.  It didn’t make her feel entirely soothed, but it strangely did help, and after a breath she quickly found her feet. 

“I did, yes…”

“We all very much appreciate it.”  The other woman’s features broadcast something else, whatever the emotion was behind it too subtle and quickly gone for Satya to quite catch.  “I like to think he and Mako would have come around eventually despite how, ah, difficult the previous few days were, but I believe speaking to you may have made it easier.”

It was a topic she really would have preferred to avoid but it seemed everyone kept coming back to it.  Something about it—particularly with regards to Jamison—suddenly felt intensely private, as if the continued focus on it might reveal everything that happened in the most minute detail, and she moved to deflect it without fully thinking.

“I would have...”  But she stopped, her mind snagging on a memory.  _I would have done it for any of the team_.  They were words Angela had heard before, before they left for Australia, and she bit her tongue to stop them.  They were repeated words, she realized, like a mantra, which seemed to make them inherently suspicious, but more than that… it wasn’t untrue, but it wasn’t quite honest either.  She stopped and cleared her throat, opting for something simpler as her mind worked on processing it all, and she managed a faint smile with it. 

“Thank you.  I hope it did.”  It was true.  In fact, it meant more to her than she would have originally thought, more than if Angela hadn’t brought it up.  She was lost in the thought for a bit too long when Angela spoke again and, perhaps noting Satya’s reaction, neatly dismissed the particular angle of conversation.

“At any rate it should all be back to normal soon.  Right, Lena?”

Lena herself seemed as though she had become a bit distracted as well but she jumped back to attention quickly.  “Let’s hope so.  I think I’ve had enough of that kind of excitement for a while.  I would have never thought I’d say it, but I’d rather be fighting gang members or Talon agents or something than live through the past few days again.”

Both Satya and Angela hummed their silent agreement and the topic slowly dissipated into the background, set free to be largely forgotten.  Satya was glad to have her mind elsewhere.  It went back to the conversation with Lena in Sydney at the café and she seized on it with a grateful, genuine interest. 

“So what comes next?”

“Oh.  _That_.”  Lena’s change in tone was difficult to parse; the woman shifted her attention elsewhere, letting her eyes drift to the side.  Her response was vaguely apologetic while also managing to be somewhat dismissive.  “… we don’t really want to say for certain, yet.  There’s a lot to go through, a few things to follow up on, and a couple of… erm.”  She paused and glanced down at the table, looking there for the word she was so cautiously trying to find.  “… arrangements that need to be made.  So it might take a couple more days to fully answer that.”  It was an attempt to brush off the question, the light shrug that moved across her shoulders.  “Winston figures we’ll have a big briefing later this week.”

A small crease formed on Satya’s brow at the answer and she felt distinctly that she was missing something.  Information was being withheld, true, and Lena had said as much.  But even so it felt as if there were things she ought to be picking up that she simply wasn’t.  She looked at the other woman more carefully but had little time to observe much else before she was going on in a tone that was far more cheerful.

“But let’s not worry about it for today.  There’s a lot for us to sort through, and he wants to make sure we have everything settled before we have the briefing.  And we have a few mercenary jobs to worry about first.  We have to keep the lights on, after all.”

It was dissatisfying, and Satya recognized the feeling of frustration that settled irritably in her chest.  What they had found was important, it felt like a _key_ to something.  It wasn’t a guarantee for their safety, but it was a step closer toward it… although she did understand the desire to sort through the data before potentially muddying it with speculation from the rest of the team. 

The mercenary jobs, she realized, were often a bit unfulfilling as well, but there was little option but to take some of them.  As Lena had said, they had to keep the lights on, and the capabilities of Overwatch’s benefactors could only go so far.  Besides… after everything they could probably use as much positive press as they could get.

Perhaps because of the void of meaningfulness her mind moved anyway to other things.  Other ways they could help, although she recognized most of them as wishful thinking for the future.  The thought of Junkertown came back more cautiously, the feelings associated with it more muted, not requiring so much caution to address.  There wasn’t much she could think to do, not really, but she was certain thinking harder on it could yield at least _some_ improvement to the place.  It was filed away as something to be readdressed in the future.

And then, unwillingly, her mind went to Rio de Janiero.  Despite how common the feeling of discomfort had begun to well up she was surprised by it; she had left Vishkar.  She had had no choice but to—or at least, there was no other option for _her_ , not after what she had learned.  But it felt like it was haunting her, particularly the thought that in the wake of her departure—however much it was necessary and however much weight it had taken off of her spirit—she had left the people harmed by them no better off.  Her mind provided the thought unhelpfully and wholly unsolicited: _perhaps worse_.  Vishkar unbridled, without even her slightest possible positive influence, even when she had been blinded… it wasn’t a thought she was terribly grateful to envision.

She shook it away with a light shudder, trying to gather herself.  It was made easier by the faint sound striking her ears.

They could hear it in the hallway, the _scuff-clack_ and the thudding steps accompanying it, and as Satya turned to look at the others she found them glancing between each other as well, clearly somewhat puzzled.  It was obvious who it was.  That wasn’t the surprising part.

It was wholly unexpected when Jamison emerged in the doorway looking disoriented and dirty, covered in sparse flakes of yellow paint and red dust, his eyes on the ground in front of himself and his features empty in something that looked like a daze.  For a moment he seemed not to see any of them.  Roadhog trailed in behind with loud steps and the occasional wheeze, pausing once in the room just as Jamison came to an abrupt stop and did the same.  Jamison lifted his head and there was a second where he was frozen, staring blankly at the three of them.

For whatever reason it was immensely relieving to see Roadhog accompanying the other Junker, even if she wouldn’t have expected any different.

Lena was unperturbed by Jamison’s demeanor.  She bounced to her feet with a pleasant laugh and spun, bubbly as ever, though perhaps a bit moreso than typical.  “Good morning, you two!”

Angela fixed the two of them with a kind, encouraging smile as she offered a greeting of her own and Satya watched silently, managing a faint smile and a tentative wave.

Roadhog answered first, or at least, responded with a low grunt.  He lifted a broad hand in his own blunt wave and rumbled out a one-word greeting.  “Hi.”

Jamison took the kind words directed at him with an uncertain and wincing kind of confusion.  He was stuck for a moment staring moonishly between the other two women before his eyes flitted to Satya and darted quickly away again.  “… right.  G’day, loves.”

Angela’s voice lilted pleasantly with surprise.  “It’s early for you, Jamison.”

The lanky Junker had begun to bend inwards on himself ever-so-slightly in a slow and subtle change of posture, uneasily, his fingers curling toward his palms as his hands pulled slowly upward toward his chest.  It was a sign of nervousness and she recognized it easily, far moreso than she felt she had before.

“Yeah.  Got a lot ‘a things on the docket, y’know?”

Roadhog grunted in wordless affirmation but said nothing before lumbering further into the room as if in unspoken encouragement for the other Junker to do the same, and after a moment Jamison inched forward, trailing after him, albeit only after a few somewhat bewildered blinks.

They made room for them at the table, Angela scooting her seat to make the space.  

“Have you seen Reinhardt?”

Jamison lifted his head in surprise and looked at the woman more closely.  His brow slowly furrowed above a steadily growing pout.  “Yeah…”  The words were vague and unclarified and she suspected he was saying them mostly to himself.  “Told me he wouldn’t let me help unless I ate somethin’ first.”

Lena was standing in an instant and back almost as quickly, and just as she had with Satya she shoved a plate abruptly into Jamison’s hands with an exceptionally bright smile.  “You’d better get moving then, love!”

It was clear that he wasn’t quite keeping up.  He stood there awkwardly, wide-eyed, blinking at the at the plate in his hands before raising his eyes to the table in front of himself.  The hesitance was obvious.  There were two spots, one next to Angela and one next to Satya, and he stood there for a second too long until Lena abruptly bumped into him as she zipped back to her side of the table, an action that was seemingly unintentional but jogged him a step or two toward Satya all the same.  A surprised grunt escaped him before he gave in to the momentum and staggered ungracefully into the seat beside Satya.  He cast a sidelong glance to Roadhog as if asking for help all the same, but the large man didn’t get a chance to do anything before Lena was suddenly back again with another plate, smiling broadly at him until he took it, holding it in a surprisingly delicate way between large fingers. 

“Thanks.”

A not-quite-stifled giggle burst from the woman as she settled back in next to Angela, her eyes far too attentive as she watched them from across the table.  Roadhog sat down beside Lena with obvious care, leaving only Satya and Jamison on the other side.  They glanced at each other and simultaneously caught each others’ eyes—Jamison with an intent stare and a twitch of his lips that cocked them upward into a ridiculous, crooked smile that she unintentionally failed to return—and each abruptly looked away.  It was only after he started halfheartedly prodding at his pancakes that she allowed her eyes to drift back to him, sidelong.  He didn’t look terribly worse for wear save for the bend to his shoulders, although as usual it was a shame he was so dirty from the previous night’s work: dust and flakes of dried paint.  His hands, at least, were clean.  She watched him for a long moment before Angela’s voice pulled her from her thoughts and she started, turning her attention away.

“Satya, perhaps later today you could help me in the medical bay?  After the cuts and scrapes in Australia I’m afraid I need to do an inventory for a supply run.  And given tomorrow’s assignment, it really needs to be finished today.”  The woman’s lips formed a knowing smile as she went on.  “It would likely be preferable to cleaning the ship, at least.”

She noticed Jamison tense slightly in her peripheral vision, staring down at his plate.

However small the offer was it was it was a relief and Satya took in a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh.  “Certainly.  I think the rest of the team has the ship taken care of as it is.”

Jamison abruptly stuffed a bite of pancake in his mouth, brow furrowed in a way that made him look distinctly troubled, but he didn’t offer any input.

Lena may have noticed.  A second or two into the pause she took in a quick breath and rushed in.  “Well, aside from some small repairs, anyway.  Torbjörn and Brigitte were planning to work on things, but it would always do to have another set of hands.”  She was watching Jamison closely and had affixed him with a sly look that he entirely missed.  But she pressed on, pronouncing the words a little more deliberately and clearly hoping he would hear.  “… or, one other hand, anyway.”

Within a moment they were all looking at Jamison who was by all appearances not paying attention and was instead staring blankly off in the distance, chewing thoughtfully on a pancake.  It took a jolt from Roadhog’s boot against his peg-leg pull him out of whatever his mind had settled on, and he did so with a stunned blink.

Lena attempted to throw him a lifeline.  “Jamison?”

The sound of his name, at least, snapped him fully to attention, and he raised his head with a faintly crease on his brow, entirely lost.

“Would you be willing to help out?”

“Yeah!  Yeah.”  There was an eagerness to it but the rapid-fire response faded slowly and his features pinched before he went on, suddenly more clearly confused and hesitant.  “… what’m I helpin’ with, again?”

Undeterred, Lena fixed him with a smile that couldn’t quite hide her amusement.  “We have some things around base that need repaired.  Think you could take a crack at it?”

His spine straightened slowly, although in a way that suggested purpose rather than shock, eyes focusing, watching the woman with more interest.  One eye narrowed in suspicion as his head tipped slightly to the side.  “Really?”

“Yes.”

The puzzlement lingered for a moment longer in the way his lips pursed but soon his expression brightened with a grin that began tentatively and rapidly gained strength.  “No worries, love.  Jamison Fawkes is on the case.”

“Perfect!”

His food was instantly forgotten as his hand withdrew under the table and within a second or two was back with both a notepad and pen between his fingers.  He brushed his plate to the side and replaced it with the dog-eared pad of paper, flipping through the pages with one hand as his prosthetic fingers fiddled with the pen.

“What’ve we got?”

All of them seemed a little surprised at the briskness of it.  Satya’s eyes followed the pages of the notebook as he flicked each page over in succession, too rapidly for her to catch much of anything.  Lena was a little late in responding. 

“I didn’t mean right now.  You haven’t even finished your breakfast.”

He lifted an eyebrow as he glanced toward the woman with a slightly crooked smile and a voice that was firm but pleasant.  “No time like the present, love.”

Lena simply stared at him for a moment before taking a reluctant breath and releasing it as a sigh.  “Well, alright.”   There seemed to be little point arguing, given the way he had already dismissed the food and was hunkered down over his paper.  “We need to check for a leak in the couplings on the drop ship, the training bots always need repairs… thanks in large part to _certain_ parties…”

He had been peering intently downward, scratching notes in the book, but he lifted his gaze to meet Lena’s meaningful stare.  Within a moment his eyes darted nervously to the side as he offered an uncomfortable grin.  “… nothin’ wrong with a little practice…”

He entirely missed Lena’s knowing smirk.  “I think you already know what the training bots need.”

He flicked farther through the papers, foregoing the list, myriad diagrams on the pages until reaching one with a rough sketch of one of the bots and his voice was a low mutter that seemed as if it might not be meant, really, to be heard.  “Been meanin’ to improve those hunks of junk anyway.” 

Satya could see, finally, the notes just a short distance away.  She caught a few spare words despite the jagged edges of his writing.  ‘Design improvement’, ‘Safety measurements’, ‘Defense mechanisms’.  She hadn’t been aware he’d been spending his time on anything aside from his personal, more explosive projects.  He fidgeted with the pencil for a second longer, twirling it between in his fingers before starting to scribble notes in the margins.

“Generally speakin’ they just need some new stabilizers for now and she’ll be apples.  Could do with a check on the blasters.”

Lena’s voice rose with the recollection.  “Oh!  Also, the dryer’s been making a noise.  It hasn’t been upgraded since…”  Her voice trailed off and she ended the sentence awkwardly, seeming both regretful that she’d decided to elaborate at all and eager to get it over with.  “Well.”

Jamison seemed not to notice.  He responded with nothing but a grunt, clearly concentrating, his mind already occupied and busy, but Satya noted the way he paused to scribble ‘ _dryer_ ’ near the top of the page before disregarding it again.  The diagrams were rough but understandable and, as he moved from one to the next, she realized they were fairly complex, some involving the relationship of moving parts and others including the unmistakable symbols of circuitry.

It shouldn’t have been any surprise, but Satya found herself with a bit of the emotion all the same as her eyes abandoned the page to settle on his face instead.  His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed once again with the effort, and after a moment of searching his features she found her own expression matching his, a faint crease on her brow but paired with a small, tentative smile.

Lena had gone far too silent.  When Satya looked up she was blatantly staring at the two of them, and almost immediately Roadhog’s shoulder lifted to nudge the other woman gently with his elbow and she sat back, abruptly lifting her hands above her head in a suspicious stretch as her eyes darted elsewhere.

Reinhardt’s comment suddenly hung uneasily over her.

Satya got to her feet abruptly, excusing herself.  It seemed like as good a time to depart as any.  She had eaten as much as she preferred anyway, and she still needed to collect her belongings, after all.

“I have some things to attend to, as well.  Thank you, Angela, for breakfast.  I’ll meet you in the medical bay a bit later on?”  The words came with a pleasant if somewhat strained smile.

“Of course!  I should be there within the hour.”

“Cheers!” Lena had regained her smile, though it seemed a bit less enthusiastic than typical as well.  Satya decided not to allow herself to dwell on it, and was helped along by Roadhog’s rumbling voice anyway.

“Bye.”

It left only one of them.  Jamison had lifted his head, blinking, and he looked at her for a long moment before the same oddly stunned expression he’d been wearing earlier stuttered, a flit of something else across his features, something slightly troubled, perhaps, before he lifted his hand for a silent wave.

It was good enough and, in fact, she would prefer not to get anything more.  She lifted her hand in a wave quite pointedly meant for any still paying attention and turned, taking a slow, relieved breath as she walked back out the door.

 

* * *

 

It took little time to collect her things from the ship and put things back in their place, neatly setting aside the laundry for later.  She wasn’t certain how much longer it would be before Angela had returned to the medical bay, so she took her time in making the trip, applying effort not to think too hard on the morning’s events.

Angela was precisely where Satya expected her to be, tucked away in the medical bay.  Satya steeled herself and entered, managing a smile for the other woman when she turned to look at her.

“Satya!  Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course.”  Satya paused to examine the woman, stuck in her own thoughts for a moment before she offered her a faint smile.  “Thank you for rescuing me from cleaning the ship.”

Angela returned her smile with one of her own, a sly and self-satisfied expression.  “I thought perhaps you would rather be occupied with something else.”

A quiet laugh infiltrated Satya’s voice as she replied.  “I appreciate it.”

The woman was pulling a thick, protective case from a stack on the floor, the plastic outer layer clearly resilient despite the time-worn scratches in it, the hard shell popped open by the latches a second later to expose the myriad medical supplies held within, stabilized by the molding inside, each item held neatly in its place.  Although they hadn’t used much, it always seemed to do to keep their supplies and inventory up-to-date… and although it was technology she still didn’t fully understand, it seemed that keeping extra charges for Angela’s staff was often a good deal of the precautionary procedure.

She had little time to prepare herself before Angela went briskly on, nodding to another case on the floor in indication for Satya to open it, as well.  She hefted it from the floor—a significant weight, although nothing straining—and gently unclasped the locks, peeling open the lid of the case and gently beginning to remove the contents from within, setting them on the counter in imitation of the other woman’s movements.

“I know I’ve already said it, and I do apologize for revisiting the topic, but thank you for keeping an eye on Jamison.”  Her slender fingers worked over small glass vials as she spoke, sorting them, and Satya couldn’t help but wonder amidst the surprise if she was doing it more for Satya’s benefit rather than her own.  She shifted her weight uncomfortably as the other woman went on, a crease on her brow as she watched her carefully.

“I was very concerned, going into that last mission.”  The woman’s hands slowed their work and she cast a brief glance to Satya, offering her a somewhat weak smile that seemed wholly uncharacteristic.  “I think we all may have misjudged how things would go.” 

Satya had expected them to simply do the work of taking inventory and organization, to put away supplies and create a list of what needed to be replaced… not to have a conversation.  The comments were unexpected and made her a little uncomfortable, although she wasn’t entirely certain why aside from the fact that she wasn’t sure she really wanted to revisit it.  Not yet, anyway.  But she found a response all the same.

“It’s alright, Angela.”  She attempted to make it sound encouraging, but also a bit dismissive, wishing to leave the topic behind.  Even Jamison aside, she wasn’t certain how much she wanted to consider the topic of any of them blaming themselves.  Or along the same thought, ultimately where any blame might truly lie.

“I’ve spoken with Mako, as well.  He’s much quieter—something I’m certain you could guess—but he seems to be doing well with all of it, even if I barely got a few sentences out of him.  I’m asking the team to keep an eye on him as well, if they can.  I’m concerned he may be more of the ‘suffer in silence’ type.”

Somehow… it was something Satya hadn’t considered, how the larger Junker might have felt about the experience.  He was always so silent…

She had been so distracted at the time but she thought back, remembered how he had seemed somewhat distant when they arrived, even with Jamison.  Her brow furrowed at the thought and the idea of her own absentmindedness, no matter how preoccupied she had been at the time.  Angela’s efforts deserved real gratitude, and Satya made sure it made it into her voice.  “Thank you.”

The other woman flashed her a bright smile.  “Simply doing my job.”

It was more than that, Satya knew.  She fixed Angela with a smirk before turning back to her task, turning to the pad of paper to her side on the counter and managing to both write down what Satya assumed was a list of supplies in gentle, smooth cursive as she spoke. 

“All of that said… I wanted to know, though, about you.  How are _you_ feeling?”

Satya had managed to distract herself in the brief lull in conversation and she blinked, going still as her eyes returned to the other woman, whose own attention seemed to be for the most part on writing with the occasional switching of tasks.  For some reason the question left her feeling a bit taken aback.

“I’m sorry?”

“It wasn’t an easy time.  The three of you unfortunately seemed to bear the brunt of it.  We had plenty of excitement on our end but nothing quite like what you experienced.”

Satya took a second’s pause.  It had been asked so earnestly that she supposed it deserved some real introspection, even if her answer did come cautiously.  “I’m… fine, thank you.”  It was true, but the courtesy of being asked was strangely revitalizing, and she wondered if that was what made her to go on, largely unthinkingly.  “… I suppose it was… fairly stressful.” 

She debated further for a moment.  She hadn’t really intended to talk about any of it, preferring the idea of putting it entirely behind her, but the line of questioning left her suddenly a bit troubled… hesitant, and not sure how far down that particular road she was willing to travel, but her voice continued on anyway, more quietly as she lifted a vial filled with a clear, golden liquid to the light, examining it without truly seeing it.  “… I feel as though I may have made quite a few mistakes.”

Angela looked toward her, seeming expectant, but when no further clarification came she let it drop, kindly.  “I would say, it would be fair to say we all did.”  She paused before taking a deep breath that raised her shoulders with it and released it as a sigh.  “There was little to be done, really.  Your work was exemplary, especially amidst so much chaos.  On all fronts, really.  I’d say you carried a bit more weight than most of us, to be honest.”

Satya’s brow furrowed as she turned her eyes back to the other woman.  She wasn’t completely sure what she meant but managed a small smile all the same as her attention on the vial held carefully between her fingers waned, gradually lowering it from her view.

Perhaps it was Satya’s gaze, but Angela was abruptly cheerful again.  “At any rate all is well that ends well, although I won’t be surprised if it takes us all a little while to regain our equilibrium.” 

“Mm.”  Satya had turned and begun to preoccupy herself with replacing the vial in the case—realizing she wasn’t certain where in the medbay it needed to go—and the other woman’s words drifted to her from a distance.

“If there’s anything I can do to help please don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Her response was almost automatic.  “Thank you, Angela.”

There was a pause—a subtle thing that Satya didn’t notice at first, but as the silence continued she abruptly realized it, glancing sidelong at Angela with a sudden feeling of confusion.

The other woman hesitated over her words, as if considering them carefully.  And although Satya had already abandoned the supplies in front of herself the tone in her voice prompted her to give Angela her full attention.

“Things… may get a bit more difficult, soon.”

Satya watched her with the slow, inquisitive arch of an eyebrow, concern drawing her lips into a thin line.  It felt like the kind of comment she wasn’t meant to ask further about.  Her instincts insisted otherwise and given how the day had already gone she didn’t feel strongly enough about propriety to stop them.  She had no time for anything other than a quick breath before Angela abruptly looked toward her with a smile that seemed a bit less vibrant than typical. 

“Just, please remember my offer for the future, yes?”

It was strange.  Worse, it was disarming in the way it had been said, and despite searching the other woman closely as she turned her attention away again Satya gained nothing from the examination.  Too much time had gone by and it had made the air feel suddenly tense.  She tried to dispel it with an unconvincingly indifferent answer.  “… alright.”

Even if she had intended to, Angela had no time to respond.  A new voice broke through the dense air and scattered Satya’s already-muddled thoughts.

“Satya?  Do you have a minute?” 

Brigitte was standing in the doorway with one hand casually resting on her hip.  Her expression must have reflected her brief confusion as Satya barely had the time to adjust to the other woman’s presence before Brigitte continued. 

“Jamison was asking for you.  Something about you helping make some parts he needs?”

 _Oh_.  Satya shook herself mentally and took a deep breath that helped her orient herself before looking toward Angela for guidance.  She was ready with a smile.

“It’s alright, Satya.  I believe we’re nearly done, anyway.”

It didn’t make her feel any more convinced, but particularly with Brigitte there it didn’t seem like something worth pursuing.  “Alright.”

“And Brigitte?  Could you ask Jamison to stop by sometime today?”

“No problem.”

Angela smiled apologetically.  “Sorry for making you play the messenger.”

The other woman offered an easygoing shrug and a small, careless smile.  “I don’t mind.”  Turning to Satya, she took a deep breath that raised her eyebrows with it and tinted her expression with something difficult to determine.  Amusement, perhaps.  “We’d better get going.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s really strange.  I have no idea how the part broke in the first place.  It’s not exactly my area of expertise, but it looked like it was just a belt issue…” 

Brigitte spoke as they moved down the hallway at an unhurried pace, throwing her voice over her shoulder casually.  Somehow despite the words she didn’t sound particularly puzzled or at all troubled by any of it.  Satya could detect something else despite not quite being able to put her finger on it, and before she had much chance to dwell on it they were at the laundry room.  Brigitte paused in the door with a hand on her hip, Satya coming to a stop beside her, and the other woman’s voice sounded distinctly dry and blunt as she spoke to the seemingly empty room.

“Satya’s here.” 

Jamison’s head popped up almost immediately from behind the washing machine, his yellow eyes blinking into the light.  His lips spread in a broad, sharp-toothed grin that looked decidedly excited for a moment before he snapped them shut and subdued the expression, gently clearing his throat.  Bringing it under control looked like it had required force. 

Even from the short distance Satya could tell he was filthy.  Not just the residual dust and the flecks of dried yellow paint pressed against the skin of his cheeks, but what appeared to be grease swept across the curve of one of his shoulders and a dark smudge on the side of his nose… probably from the drop ship and whatever other projects Brigitte had had him working on.  Satya tried to keep the dismay off of her features as she stared at him, briefly speechless.

“Thanks, love.”  He got to his feet with a quiet grunt and made a futile effort to brush his shirt off before looking up to the both of them, fixing Brigitte with an expectant look as the other woman slowly crossed her arms over her chest with a similar look of her own in return.  The pause went on a bit too long before he suddenly took an animated breath and rattled the words off quickly as if just remembering he’d meant to say them.  “Shit.  Wouldn’t ya know it, I forgot me wrench in the workshop, too.  Gonna need that.  You mind pickin’ it up?” 

Satya glanced to Brigitte, who had fixed Jamison with a blank stare.  Her lips curled upward just slightly at one corner in a wry, unimpressed look that Jamison didn’t seem to notice.  “Not at all.” 

“Ta!” 

Within a moment he had adopted a casual lean against the clothes dryer, watching Brigitte closely as she cast Satya a brisk look—eyebrows raised as if in apology—and then stepped back into the hallway, disappearing quickly once out the door.  Jamison turned his eyes to Satya and the grin followed suit, widening and looking distinctly pleased.

“’G’day.  How ya goin’?” 

Her stare turned thoughtful as she watched him, still trying to decode the curious nature of Brigitte’s behavior as well as his own.  “Well enough, thank you.”  He was watching her intently with a bright and appealing expression and she took a few steps closer into the room, an eye narrowing as she considered him.  “Although I was helping Angela…”  

“Couldn’t be helped, love.  Needed you here.”  The smile that accompanied it was beaming and it sent a faint wave of warmth through her that did at least a bit to dislodge the uncertain feeling left in her from Angela’s cryptic words.  He straightened slightly, prosthetic arm still bent at the elbow against the dryer and his left hand flicked to his pocket, pulling a something from it and fiddling with it idly, turning it over between his fingers as he spoke.  A tool.  More specifically, a wrench.  “Shouldn’t take long, though.”

Her eyes shifted to the item being woven between his fingers and remained there until he noticed the stare and looked down as well, his own widening in realization.  An abrupt flick of his hand sent the wrench flying behind him with an utter lack of stealth and it thudded against the wall before clattering noisily to the floor in a way that made him wince through the grin, his teeth gritting against one another, the wrench’s final resting place obscured by the machine.  When she raised her eyes back to his face she found him with an expression that looked only slightly embarrassed, not so much as glancing backward where the wrench had landed, unflappable and with his features mostly unchanged from the moments before he had exposed his own deception.

She couldn’t at all determine if it all of it had been intentional or not, some plan to draw a laugh from her or true absent-mindedness, or—something she had begun to think was much more common—some mixture of the two.  And she supposed it didn’t matter. 

The urge was there to chide him.  But despite attempting to press her lips tightly together she could feel the traitorous upward curve beginning to take hold of them and she reined it in with no small amount of effort, her teeth at her inner cheek, willing her lips to return to a neutral, unimpressed line.  She moved a step closer, slowly and patiently, and settled herself at the opposite side of the dryer, the bulk of it between them serving as a convenient barrier, something that lent an inexplicable comfort.  Her features softened slightly of their own volition as she, too, rested an elbow against the metal surface and leaned comfortably forward against the machine opposite him to examine him more closely, her palm pressed against her cheek in thought.

“That’s strange…”  Jamison made no comment but his expression lit again with a hopeful sort of energy as he leaned forward a bit further, his eyes wide and bright.  “It almost seems as if you lied to make Brigitte leave.”

The change was immediate.  He blinked as either the closeness or the accusation—likely both—made him pull away with a nervous but not particularly guilty-sounding laugh as his eyes drifted pointedly to the side and away.  “That doesn’t sound like me…”

She held her ground and narrowed her eyes in a challenging stare that was wasted by his lack of attention.  “Actually, I think it sounds very much like you.”  When he failed to respond aside from the hesitant tap of his fingers in an uneasy, rolling cadence against the metal she went on.  “Devious even when you have no need to be.” 

He had gone beyond simply avoiding her gaze and had actually tilted his head away and slightly upward with pursed lips, as if by simply avoiding her examination she might decide she was mistaken.  But as she let the silence linger his eyes flicked uncertainly to her before darting away again once, twice, and finally settled on her own as he realized it was inevitable.

The grin returned abruptly, wide and infectious and some mixture of being contrite and inordinately pleased with himself.

“I prefer ‘clever’.”  She caught the breath of a laugh in her throat and trained her features as best she could to neutrality but it didn’t seem to discourage him.  “… cunning?  Ingenious.”

There were few options to save her from giving him any concession given the threat of laughter building up in her, so she opted to roll her eyes, though the expression was belied by her smile.  When she looked back to him she found him watching her intently with something entirely different on his features—a small, earnest smile underlain by something gentle, curious and searching.

Her own began to fade slowly in not-unpleasant surprise and a silence crept in as they settled into an intent, intense stare.

Within a moment her eyes and attention began to drift.  The sandy blonde of his hair marred with dust and in slight disarray, swept asymmetrically to one side.  The slight color on his cheeks juxtaposed with the smudge of something dark on the side of his pointed nose.  The similarly dirty hand resting calmly, for once, on the surface underneath it with darker lines in the creases of his knuckles.  It was strange moment that passed.  Comfortable but with a quiet, underlying current of electricity in the still air.

She took a shallow breath and found her voice.

“What do I need to make for you?  Assuming you do need something.”

The words seemed to jar him back to a reality that he had clearly forgotten about and he started, blinking before gathering himself.  “Right…”  He disappeared for a moment as he ducked down and grabbed a part off of the floor, holding it up for her to inspect.  “One ‘a these doovalackies.”  It was a simple metal disk, four holes distributed near the center no doubt for the purpose of allowing attachment to some other part, nothing too complicated but dented in a way that made it uneven and likely unworkable.  “Except, you know, without that part gone all wrong.” 

She pursed her lips in thought as she took the part in hand and stood straight, turning it over carefully in her hand and ignoring the faint grey smudges it left on her fingers as best she could.  The damage was significant.  The metal was thick enough that it must have taken some force it out of its original shape.  She wasn’t terribly familiar with the inner workings of a dryer, but she couldn’t imagine any of it managing to damage itself so thoroughly.  A thought occurred to her and she lifted her eyes, watching him carefully from under her lashes as she chose her words just as deliberately, attempting to sound as if she were only musing.  As if she weren’t attempting to set a trap.

“Surely you could have created a new piece by yourself within relatively short order.” 

“Uh…”  He deliberated over the words for a moment before the grin returned, evening out to something a bit more convincing.  “Yeah, I could’ve.  But I reckoned it’d be smarter to make it outta somethin’ sturdier.”

Hard light was many things, and it _was_ sturdy.  When integrated correctly it often held up better under stress, but metal in itself was just as much if not moreso under certain circumstances and should have sufficed, at the very least, for a relatively simple bit of machinery.  It was something he likely could have created in minutes.  Certainly no more than fifteen.

She looked at it more closely.  “How exactly did this get so substantially damaged?” 

Something in his demeanor had begun a subtle shift that showed itself most clearly in the way his hands began to slowly curl into loose fists pulled a bit closer toward his body, but the grin remained, stubborn if ever-so-slightly more crooked.  “Er… not sure what ya mean, love.”

She peered at him carefully.  One last push wouldn’t hurt, and she attempted to keep her tone to innocent questioning as she looked down at the part in her hand, by all appearances examining it.  “I wouldn’t have imagined the mechanics of a dryer to be so… violent.”

When she raised her eyes to him his mouth had snapped shut and his gaze flitted away nervously.

It was more than enough.  Satya narrowed an eye at him gently as she leaned against the dryer as well, both inquisitive and accusing.  “Did you _break_ the part you’re trying to get me to replace?”  There was a firmness in her voice, a warning there—a dare, perhaps, and she was curious if he would try to test it.

His laugh was remarkably weak.  More of an impersonation of one, really.

“A-ha… ha…”   Sharp teeth appeared at his lower lip as he stubbornly avoided her eyes, looking instead down at his hands where they had raised in front of his chest, tapping his knuckles against each other once or twice.  “I wouldn’t know anything about _that_ …”

It took a moment longer but when it became clear she was unconvinced he lifted his eyes to her and the rest of his body did the same, his shoulders raising as he spread his arms in a helpless shrug.  If there was remorse there it wasn’t apparent in the bright, innocent smile that nevertheless did absolutely nothing to deny the accusation.  “Well … it _might_ not’ve been broke when I started fixin’ it…” 

She had already been certain she was right, but she paused all the same to look at the part again, her eyes roving over the dent along the edge.  She wasn’t even certain how he’d managed to break it.  It had likely taken some effort.  The absurdity of it forced an incredulous laugh from her, more of a huff of air, and she looked back to him with lingering disbelief.  “I can’t help but wonder if you’ve been on a spree of destruction.”

His offense was immediate and his body went straight as his lips pressed together in a pout, a raised finger pointed at her to underline his point, his eyebrows in high, matching arcs.  “Oi, now, this is the first thing I’ve broken.”

She raised an eyebrow, only watching him. 

“… intentionally.” 

Her lack of response only seemed to build a progressive agitation in him and when she offered him nothing further he began to cycle through a rapid series of expressions that she didn’t even have the chance to counter and opted to simply watch with curiosity.  He returned her stare for a moment before the firmness in his voice faltered, replaced by an irritated huff. 

“ _Here_.”

Amusement was threatening her expression but she forced it away and her reward was his brows knitting together and the stubborn yet uncertain set of his jaw and his voice pitched upward in a hopeful, bargaining tone in a last-ditch effort to appease her.  “… today?”

The threat of laughter was imminent.  Satya did her best to disguise it as a sigh that required her to lower her chin, briefly covering her lips with a folded hand.  If he made the distinction it wasn’t apparent given the puzzled way he looked at her as she raised her eyes back to him.

It was difficult not to wonder how often he had fallen victim to something similar—it seemed if she provided him enough rope he would inevitably hang himself based solely on his inability to stop talking.  Mako… the dynamic between the two suddenly made a great deal of sense.

He seemed to realize he was digging his own grave and started backtracking, finding his way immediately back into denial.  “Well, look… _if_ I did break it, luckily we got your substantial talents to make it right.” 

She pressed more of her weight against the machine, resting her chin on a curled fist as she considered him.  His reasoning was… odd.  So much so that she wasn’t even certain that there was one.  He was sometimes destructive, true, but surely he hadn’t gone through the trouble simply for the sake of destruction, itself, and it demanded explanation.

“Why?” 

Maybe it was the bluntness of the question but he seemed surprised, and when he didn’t answer she offered a gentle clarification with a small wave of her hand.

“… all of this.” 

He shifted his weight from foot to peg-leg as his eyes drifted away again.  “Seemed like the Doc was gonna keep you all day, slavin’ away.  Reckoned you could use a break.”

There was the distinct impression that he was dodging the question, but she was just uncertain enough that she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to press.  Playing along seemed like the better option.

“Ah, so it was all for my benefit?” 

It worked well enough.  His eyes snapped to her as a grin split his lips once again and he dipped his head with a quick, sly wink.  “I’m the model of a gentleman, love.”

Despite the subtle feeling of wariness there was a fondness in her tone that she hadn’t fully intended.

“So considerate...” 

His own expression was distinctly pleased, and not only with himself.  It seemed, surprisingly, to be genuine.  He lifted his chin with a bright smile, spine straight, hands on his hips, eyes briefly closed.

“I been fixin’ up the place.”  It was clear from the tone and the way he bobbed his head that there was a certain pride in it that she hadn’t quite expected.  “It’s kind of a mess, really.  Didn’t realize it before, aside from the bots.  Might have to take up this mechanic thing regular-like.  Ol’ Bonzer Beard’s been doin’ it but he says I’ve got a knack.”  A thought occurred to him and he squinted with the words.  “… reckon’ he might just not want to do it, though.”

Applying his talents to something more benignly beneficial… it was an interesting thought.  Her appraising look turned softer even with the still-unanswered question as to his motives, and a quiet chuckle escaped from her as she pushed off of the dryer and lifted her hands, turning to the task originally requested of her, weaving the strands of light together carefully.  She could tell he was watching closely even just by the silence of the room.  Within a moment she plucked the hard-light disk from the air and held it out to him delicately between two fingers. 

“Will this do?”

He took it in hand and held it up against the original, comparing the diameters, his tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth, trapped between sharp teeth.  The examination was short.  A cheerful smile overtook him as he lifted his head and chucked the old part behind him to the floor where it joined the wrench, nearly as loudly.  “Perfect.”  The hard-light disk bounced in the air as he tossed it once or twice in his hand, the prosthetic lifting to give her a brisk salute.  “Be right back, love.” 

He abruptly dropped and completely disappeared behind the machine.

Satya pressed forward curiously, leaning against it.  From her angle she could only see the half of him—nothing but a leg splayed outward, the prosthetic bent at the knee, and a bit of his torso.  The wrench was gone, in his hand no doubt.  Her mind started to drift as she watched.  He truly did seem to have a talent for such things.  He had to have been self-taught and—she suddenly realized as she thought back to Junkertown—with limited resources.  It was no wonder, given the arm and the leg, but impressive all the same.

His voice drifted out from behind the dryer, oddly hesitant and somewhat muted.

“… I guess, uh.”  There was a clatter and a muffled curse before his body jerked and something clinked melodically as it hit the floor.  It was apparently the desired effect because he continued on after a moment, still working if the small movements of his body were any indication, but without any louder sounds from underneath.  He tried again and sounded no more convinced than before.  “Guess I was just thinkin’… I might not get to see ya?”  There was a pregnant pause in which she thought she could hear him clear his throat.  “Wasn’t sure if you’d come, otherwise.”

It was unexpected, enough to make her pull back a few inches, and a crease formed on her brow as she pressed forward again to resume her position and observe what she could of him.  The genuine puzzlement in her tone had to be obvious, and there was something underneath it.  Something that verged on offense. 

“Why would you think that?”

She heard his grunt followed by a second of rummaging around in the machine’s innards that might have been louder and more sustained than strictly necessary.  But after a short while his movement slowed, the occasional views of the tips of his elbows as he wrenched them to the side to secure some part slackened, and he spoke more quietly.

“I guess… I just wanted to say sorry I got all funny on ya.  Back in ‘Straya.”

It was unfortunate that he couldn’t see her expression—it radiated pure confusion—but her lack of response proved beneficial once again as he went on, his voice low in her silence. 

“I know I said it before, just… I ain’t ever really had anyone do somethin’ like that.”  His body shifted. It was something she imagined from the way it moved through him must have been a shrug.  “Say the kind ‘a stuff you did.  So… thanks.  Is I guess what I’m sayin’.”

The murmur came from her before she could even properly review it, almost automatic as a replacement for any deeper words she could have managed.  “You’re welcome.”

She hadn’t expected him to revisit any of it, not really.  And she would have expected it to be much worse; she didn’t particularly enjoy reliving such things.  But this was… different, somehow.  Not the closing of some door, but the removal of it completely.  It was puzzling.

The room fell to near absolute silence.  He was working still, but with muted movements, as if any sound might give him away.  She tried to imagine the expression she couldn’t see and only came up with ones that displeased her—a frown, likely, and discomfort—and her brow furrowed in a further thought as she gave him a quiet but firm offering.

“I would have come.” 

His boot twitched and went still and she took heart in it, leaning farther forward as if it might make it better for him to hear the words, no matter how silent the rest of the room.

“You only had to wait.”

Everything went still for seconds that dragged on and she was about to say his name, was mid-breath when he slid abruptly back away from the machine, popping out just enough to treat her with a lopsided and perfectly natural smile, cocking his head to the side in a way that only made the expression look more asymmetrical.  “That oughta do it.”

Within a moment he was on his feet and leaning to the side, plugging the cord back in the wall.  He righted himself and leaned over to turn the knob, close enough to be within reach.  Nothing happened immediately.  A displeased furrow started to develop on his brow but he gave the machine a sharp kick with his knee and it came to life, rough at first before the rhythm of it evened out and quieted.  His expression lifted in a proud, beaming grin that seemed at odds with the conversation only seconds earlier, but honest all the same.

It was a curious change.  His ability to switch so easily between apparent moods could be disorienting, and left her wondering just how genuine some of them were.  The brighter ones, in particular.  It wasn’t a thought she had time to mull over.

Satya tipped her head to the side as she watched him closely.  “Well done.”

She was perfectly content to leave the prior conversation and he appeared to mirror the sentiment. 

“Wasn’t just me, love.  You gotta admit, we make a good team.” 

Her lips curled in a small, if somewhat tentative smile of her own.  “I suppose we do.”  

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

She couldn’t tell which did more to take her off balance—the faint, calm smile, the words themselves, or the way his eyes settled onto hers.  Not intense.  Something different.

It was broken in short order.  His hands lowered with the clear intent to rest on the metal edge but pulled back abruptly, his eyes snapping downward with a surprised blink upon realizing the machine was still running.  He had clearly entirely forgotten.  A flash of irritation flickered across his features as he leaned forward again to twist the knob in the opposite direction and the dryer rumbled to a slow, successful stop.

She took advantage of his distraction to shake her head briskly to re-orient herself.  It helped, and it was easier for her to find words by the time his attention turned back to her, and even if it came out with more genuine curiosity and less of the sardonic tone she would have preferred, she would take it.

“So.  Now that I’m here and everything is fixed, what exactly is it you intended?”

His hands had found their intended position—curled at the edge of the dryer—and his fingers tapped against the metal in a gentle cadence as he gave a small, constrained shrug, his voice a bit more quiet but no more repentant.  “Guess I didn’t have much of a plan after that.”

Satya couldn’t help the raised eyebrow.  Or the small, amused huff of air that somehow managed to sound affectionate despite itself.  “It isn’t typically your strong suit.”

“Got everything workin’, though.”

“And you sent poor Brigitte on multiple goose chases.”

His smile turned both pleased and encouraging, no doubt meant to be reassuring.  “I reckon there ain’t much harm done.  All’s well that ends well an’ all that.” 

It was familiar.  Said recently, although for a moment she couldn’t place where, and something that quickly became apparent that she wasn’t quite prepared for.  It came back suddenly—Angela’s statement right before her offer.  And the offer itself that followed, the seemingly out-of-place suggestion that came right after.  Something that she had finally begun to realize was a warning, of sorts.

The return of it was surprising and unexpected.  It must have been lingering in the back of her mind, stubbornly waiting for its chance to resurface.  A small crease formed on her brow as her eyes went unfocused as she briefly lost sight of him.

His voice drifted to her distantly enough that she missed the concern in it.  “Everything alright, love?”

Satya snapped back to attention, mind faltering for a grip on the situation for a second before she found her balance.  She didn’t tell him about Angela, uncertain of what she would even say.  She followed another thought instead in the hope it would be sufficiently distracting.

 

“It’s… just good to be back.” 

“Yeah.”  He sounded less certain.  She raised her eyes questioningly.  He was looking down at her hands, his own fingers twitching once as if with the intent to raise them to hers before they went still.

A long moment passed before his eyes skittered away, his voice following after quietly, dropped nearly to a murmur. 

“Bit strange, is all.”  It was odd, the way he nearly winced with the words.  He had turned abruptly hesitant.  “Everyone’s been actin’ so nice…”  A small ‘heh’ slipped from him noncommittally and he scratched his head as if confused by it leaving dark streaks in his blond hair.  Worry was there as well, along with odd traces of uncertainty.

She was too preoccupied for the dismay to register and she leaned forward again without fully noticing, her chin tipping at a slight angle as she considered him.  “Perhaps ‘acting’ isn’t the right word to use.” 

Her look was appraising and he offered her a confused blink as he returned it, his brows knitted together in an expression that made him look slightly lost.  It was strange to be on that side of the coin. 

“I only mean…”  Her voice faltered as she tried to collect herself, breathing out a sigh.  Their acceptance of her, even given the circumstances of her joining Overwatch… it felt like more solid evidence than she could ever need.  “They are good people.”

She didn’t miss the quiet snort.  But his features were overtaken by something more thoughtful as he pursed his lips closely together, brow furrowing once again.  “Just guess it’s just kinda hard to get used to.  After everything in Sydney… er… and Junkertown—”   His voice had lowered, the words mumbled like he thought he could get away with it not being noticed before regaining volume as he went on.  “Didn’t really reckon it’d exactly be a warm welcome.”

It was something she felt as though he’d said before, mentioned at least, but the memory was vague.  Perhaps Junkertown had erased or dulled whatever progress had been made.  It warranted reiteration, regardless.

“You’re a valuable part of the team.”  The look he gave her seemed doubtful.  Feeling as if it perhaps needed more, she tried again.  “Have you considered the idea that they enjoy having you around?”

It practically burst out of him—a seemingly genuine, loud but wheezing laugh that didn’t seem to fit the words that followed, but she supposed that wasn’t all that uncommon.  “That ain’t exactly been typical.  Winston said somethin’ about my ‘methods’.”  It didn’t last—his voice turned a bit harder as he went on.    “Always seems to have somethin’ to say about that.” 

The look that took over his features was both sullen and irritated.  And yet he was still there, she thought.  It was slightly troubling that it was a detail he didn’t seem to see or willing to accept, despite efforts she was certain the gorilla had taken to let Jamison know he was appreciated.  She wasn’t sure the source of the grudge.  The thought struck her that neither of the Junkers seemed to have much love for authority.  The sudden memory of Jamison even saying so in Junkertown rose in her mind.  It still seemed worth challenging. 

“Winston has a very difficult job.”  She looked at him more closely, one eye narrowing, searching.  “I’m certain he meant nothing unkind by any criticisms.”

The statement was sidestepped almost immediately—he uttered an unconvinced grunt and continued with a definitive skip away from the topic.  “And I guess back home people were mostly only nice if they wanted somethin’ from ya.”

It would have been better if he had continued, but in the silence that followed her mind flooded with thoughts trying to fill it.  They were dark thoughts.  Unwanted and unwelcome and completely unhelpful.  She shook them off forcefully and was certain that the determination bled into her expression, even if quickly gone and absent from her voice.

“What about Mako?”

“Mako?” He hadn’t recognized her lapse in attention and he offered her question a blank look that indicated absolutely no recognition.  It was obvious confusion, instead, until something clicked in his mind.  “Oh.  Roadie?”

“Yes.”  Her voice, she found, was still blank.  She tried to instill it with emotion.  It worked slowly and it served the purpose of instilling it in her as well in a way that felt as if it returned her to base-level, bringing her fully back to the conversation.  “He likes having you around.”

The loud laugh seemed out of place, as did the perfectly cheerful expression.  “Not sure where you got that idea, love.”  It would have been all, she suspected, but he seemed to notice the confusion on her face and humored her by answering more sincerely.  “First off: debatable.  Second, he oughta given how much I’m payin’ ‘im.”

The idea seemed ludicrous and she fixed him with a sharp look, not fully convinced of either statement.  “You’re still paying him?”

He took in a breath to answer but interrupted himself with a pause and a sort of puzzled look of his own.  “Well I guess it’s… sort’ve a hypothetical transaction.”

She could do nothing but blink in incomprehension.

It took a shake of his head to dispel whatever confusion he’d been under and he looked back to her with a small grin and a shrug.  “There ain’t as much need for it, here.  Still keepin’ track, though.  But I think he likes the place.”

“Then why?”

“A deal’s a deal, love.” 

He had at one point mentioned his indentured servitude.  To her.  The thought was so sudden and unexpected that she struggled to contain the smile that would be incomprehensible without a good deal of explanation that she would rather not have to address.  But she made use of it to lighten her mood.  It turned her voice to something far more dry. 

“So he’s just fulfilling his duties as your bodyguard.”

It was comforting to realize that he was completely unaware of her inner thoughts, too wrapped up in his own, and he paused, smile fading, lips pressed together, a bit more thoughtful.  “Nah.  He’s me best mate.”

It was curious.  Enough so that she watched him closely as she pressed harder.  “I don’t understand.”

For a moment he was lost, scratching his head.  “Guess it’s kinda hard to explain...”  Within a second of trailing off he regained his feet and turned his eyes back to her, shrugging, cheerful enough.  “I ain’t a lotta things, but I ain’t gonna go back on a promise.”  The words were quickly undermined by a roguish grin.  “… well.  Not usually, anyway.”

It was fitting, and although she was still somewhat lost in her thoughts her lips curled in a soft smirk.

His expression for its own part faded with a deep breath.  His return to the initial topic came with a reluctant sigh, as if he would prefer not to return to it but felt it necessary to acknowledge her argument.  “Guess you got a point, though.” 

Ah.  Yes.  What was it he had he said?  People wanting something from you.  Being nice, playing with you in order to get it.  False sentiments and promises.

Satya’s protest against the idea suddenly felt weakened despite what she had said to him and the thought briskly flitted across her mind that perhaps she was trying more to convince herself.  She had gone quiet and blank once again, utterly distracted.  With her thoughts entirely elsewhere, the sound of his voice directed so clearly toward her made her jump.

“So… did I say somethin’?”

Her eyes darted up to him, drawn a bit too wide.  The confusion was likely more a byproduct of her distraction, something she only needed a moment to get over but he clarified anyway.

“Somethin’ bad, I mean.”  He was looking at her closely, a slight downward skew to his lips and a tentative, thoughtful tone to his voice.  “You just got awful quiet, is all.” 

“No, it’s…” 

It became apparent immediately that any denial she would be able to dredge up would be insufficient.  He was watching her too intently and with too much concern to be easily swayed, and she wasn’t certain she had anything convincing in her anyway.  She stared at him for a long moment and took a breath before starting, her voice dubious and an uncomfortable, a vulnerable feeling in her stomach, something she was not at all certain how she felt about.  She started slowly.  Carefully, as if the wrong phrasing might have dire consequences—she wasn’t certain for whom.

“… what you said.  About people wanting something from you.”  Her jaw tightened as she tried to find the words, faltering for a moment over them.  “Being nice to you in order to… for your cooperation.”

She had glanced elsewhere to spare herself the distraction of his expression and the additional effort it would take to control her own, but from her peripheral vision she could see that he had cocked his head to the side, clearly not seeing where it was going.  The memory came to her unbidden and unwelcome, festering and growing in the silence he allowed her as he left her room for to continue. 

She was small once more, clean in the loose, soft clothing they had given to her that still felt uncomfortable in its strangeness.  The room, lit brightly without being glaring, the fine, smoothly-crafted chairs she had rejected in favor of the floor—certain, she remembered, that she might not be allowed to sit on them—cross-legged with her fingers curled over the odd toy they had given her.  A puzzle, she had later realized.  Geometric shapes pieced together, meant to be manipulated but only _just-so_ , immovable if done incorrectly but handled with such ease.  The patient woman with the kind voice, the way she knelt down before her and spoke with such firm conviction.

_You are exceptional, Satya._

She had fully lost track of the world around her.  It was only when she felt the sudden, urgent need to breathe that she recalled where she was and took a breath that she hoped sounded more solid than it felt.  Her spine had straightened and her fingers clenched the edge of the dryer, a fact she realized and forcibly loosened them, dreading it but glancing up to him anyway.

For a moment she could see only the concern on his features in the deep furrow etched on his brow and the grim line of his lips but he continued to stare at her for a long moment, or rather, didn’t; it was a subtle, gradual difference.  The way his eyes went slowly unfocused, glazed over and drifted to some undefined point above her, and yet intense as if lost in a particularly vivid daydream.  There were few hints as to what had caused the distraction.  The slightly shallowed breath, the slow curl of his fingers toward his palms, the faint screech of his own prosthetic fingers on the edge of the metal machine.

She leaned tentatively closer, an eye narrowed in scrutiny.

It seemed as if it was only by chance that his eyes slowly dropped back to her, pulled downward not by a shift of his attention but by the simple, inevitable force of gravity, and for a moment the oddly burning expression stayed—lips parted showing only the barest hints of sharpened canines, his pupils nothing but pinpricks—just long enough for it to be somewhat alarming.  It was easily recognizable as anger.  The same hatred she had seen directed toward other things, a fire lit in him, unspoken.  There was menace in it.

Her unease may have shown on her face.

He snapped out of it with a sudden shake of his head but the hints of it lingered for a second longer as he focused the stare downward, closing his eyes tightly until he found his feet, aided by a long, slow breath.  She had absolutely no idea what to think of it and absolutely no time to form an opinion before he went on as if the moment hadn’t happened at all.

“Look…”  The reluctance was obvious.  It was clear he wasn’t terribly enthused about what he was about to say but he pushed through anyway.  “I’m assumin’ we’re talkin’ about Vishkar here.  If that ain’t right…”  There was a grimace, a paired shrug as his voice drifted off and abandoned that trail of thought. 

“At any rate it ain’t like I know all the details.  But what I _do_ know is they’re sneaky bastards.  They got a… what’s it called.  An ‘M.O.’.”  He paused, briefly distracted, his features twisted in displeasure as he scratched under his chin, thinking.  “A modus operandy.”  It wasn’t important and he abandoned it with a shake of his head and a grunt, resuming the part that mattered more firmly after his own interruption.  “Only tryin’ to get away with _just_ enough that nobody notices.  And yeah, maybe they had you mixed up in it, but you ain’t there anymore.” 

It wasn’t quite what he wanted.  His shoulders raised and fell in a restrained sigh.  “These blokes here?  They ain’t like that.”  He turned a careful look toward her, his brow furrowed, obviously trying to gauge her reaction and apparently finding it too difficult to determine; he went on, more quietly.

“Maybe that ain’t worth all that much but it’s a start, yeah?”

She didn’t give him much, though not intentionally.  There had been more to absorb in the past few minutes than was easy to do so, not at all helped by the loudness of her own thoughts.  He uttered a sound—a grumble lined with frustration, she had no doubt, with himself. 

“I ain’t sayin’ it right...”  He lifted a metal hand and scratched with more focus at the side of his head, eyes drifted upward, lips pursed together in a pout that suggested deep thought.

The complete switching of roles was not lost on her; minutes, if not less, had passed since her attempt to convince him of the authenticity of the rest of the team.  She hadn’t meant _them_ , of course.  She had no doubts about the other members of Overwatch.  Not after they had accepted her after the conditions of her joining.  Not after none of them stood in her way in returning to Vishkar, assuming it had been an informed choice.  Not even Jamison.  Perhaps she would have appreciated slightly more resistance on that particular front, though.

A small voice suggested succinctly that it wouldn’t have done any good.

Still, she lofted an eyebrow in grudging amusement at the thought that he was suddenly in Overwatch’s defense and was surprised that it managed to break through the gloom that had settled on her shoulders.  It had been beyond uncomfortable, the feeling of vulnerability, but there was a strange relief that came with it.  It seemed as if he understood, at least to some degree, and at the very least if he didn’t the concern was clear.

It took a moment.  She offered him no verbal response but pushed away from the machine and moved to the opposite side of it, slipping between it and him before he had the chance to fully realize it, lost in thought as he was.  His attention returned to her quickly once she was closer.  His surprise was muted but obvious, and he straightened and made the space for her silently, with an ease and seeming understanding that she appreciated. 

She most definitely was _not_ touching him.

For a moment she simply allowed her eyes to wander, taking in the various smudges on the fabric of his shirt, those that were harder to see, hidden in the pattern of his shorts.  The haphazard patches applied, she supposed, by himself.

His silence seemed uneasy, once she recognized it.  She supposed she was offering him very little to work with, upon thinking about it—the small frown wasn’t meant for him, necessarily, but was a remnant of the prior conversation.  One that didn’t belong and had overstayed its welcome, lingering out of absentmindedness rather than emotion.  It warranted correction.

Her fingers lifted, the brightly polished nails tentatively grasping the edges of his shirt fabric at his shoulders in a complete crumbling of her resolve before she abandoned them to allow her eyes to continue upward to better examine his face.  She preferred to avoid his expression and focus instead on the suitability of his skin.  There were sufficiently clean patches, at least.  It wasn’t quite so terrible, not so much as she had thought before. 

“If you had a _single_ surface that wasn’t absolutely filthy I might give you a reward for all of your hard work.”  Her voice had a tone of idle musing to it, happy to allow herself to abandon the previous topic and oddly feeling more comfortable in the closeness.  The meaning, she thought, was clear.  The response wasn’t immediate.  It was, however, a bit more suggestive than she had intended.

  
“… I’m sure I got some clean surfaces somewhere.”  His grin was crooked and sharp-toothed, voice sly and low enough to give what seemed to mostly be a joke an alarming edge of truth. 

A quiet, subdued laugh escaped her despite herself, still rich and deep.  But even so as she raised her eyes to his her thoughts snagged on the moment, caught on his expression, a rush moving through her and the sound came to a faltering stop as she attempted to regather her composure.  He may have noticed.  Perhaps keeping in mind her clear discomfort over the past minute or so he seemed to take it as a cue.

“How about over ‘ere?”  He pressed the pad of a finger to his cheek and it left a print behind.  She had every suspicion that he was fully aware of the result.

The tension passed and the laugh that escaped her was faint but felt lighter than before.  It was only appropriate that her tone was admonishing.  It ended up sounding more gentle than she had intended.  “You’re making it _worse_.”

“Shit. Was tryin’ to keep that part spotless for just such an occasion.”

“Do you even _want_ me to kiss you?”

“More than you know, love.” 

It had sounded utterly, completely serious.  The tone change was absolutely unexpected but his eyes were still bright and happy—content, it seemed, even if she was denying him it.  That in itself was disarming.

It didn’t take her very long to think it over.  She gave him another brief examination before her hand slid behind the curve of his jaw until her fingertips only just brushed the strands of his hair and went no further.  It required only a slight pressure for him to lean toward her, accommodating her reach.  His lips, at least, were acceptable, and as she took them against her own quickly became moreso. 

She pressed her own against his lightly, carefully, avoiding anything else.  It was tentative.  Australia was still fresh, but it felt right enough that she tried it anyway and even though it felt strangely unfair to do so she cracked her eyelids open to watch him.  His eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise above closed eyes and color bloomed on his cheeks even under the myriad faint hues of yellow and various shades of black.

Perhaps it was the effort of maintaining his position—though she had her doubts—but he leaned forward carefully.  She broke away from him as her body angled instinctively back, unable quite to forget the filthiness of his clothes although her hand stayed on his skin, unwilling quite to leave.  But he didn’t move closer, or at least not in any way that threatened touching her, and instead his hands found the edge of the machine behind her on either side of her body, his foot and peg leg planted firmly where they were to keep the general distance.  He chased after her for what she assumed was another kiss, but instead his breath rushed in a light touch over her lips as he murmured something, nearly touching her but not quite.

“Thought you said I was filthy.”

Her own voice was quiet but she still managed to intone it with indignance and amusement as she withdrew her hand, curling it gently against her chest as if to emphasize a displeasure she didn’t at all feel.  “You _are._ ”

“Still kissed me, though.”

“Mm.  And you’ve already made me regret it.”

His eyes focused on her in a long, careful, searching stare.   “Not sure if I believe that.”

She had absolutely no defense; her breath caught, her hand dropped carefully to join her other at the edges of the machine, nestled next to Jamison’s but not touching.  She was losing herself a bit in the golden eyes, her heart beating more rapidly, and it was almost too much until they flitted away. 

It was little better.  His stare roved down her body instead, his eyebrows set low above his eyes, painting shadows that seemed to brighten them in contrast, devouring the look of her, his voice low with a heavy drawl.  “This ain’t easy, love…”  He had leaned closer, almost imperceptibly, enough for her to feel his breath on her neck.  “You get all stuck in me ‘ead an’ I can’t get you out.”

Her chest rose and fell a bit too heavily with each breath and it was impossible, suddenly, not to notice the pose--her hips angled toward him, the rest of her leaned ever so slightly away in a manner that only seemed to make the closeness more pronounced.

The change was shockingly abrupt.  His eyes flicked suddenly to a spot over her shoulder and shot wide and he stiffened immediately, lips pulling straight, eyebrows raising.  She knew in an instant and without looking that someone—likely Brigitte—had appeared in the door and her heart skipped a beat strongly enough that it took what was left of her breath away.  It felt almost like a reflex, the way she pushed too-quickly off of the machine and ducked under Jamison’s arms and away, creating an immediate space by rounding the machine and pointedly not looking at the other woman.

Brigitte’s voice sounded hesitant enough that, if Satya had more presence of mind, she would have actually felt a pang of sympathy for the other woman.  “… I couldn’t find a wrench.”  There was an unnecessary apology there that Satya could only barely detect in her distraction.

Jamison, for his part, had immediately lost all sense of composure and turned to something jumpy and nervous instead, standing upright and grinning through it all the same as he stumbled to dredge up some explanation.  “Oh.  Er.  Right.”  It took a second before he lighted on an idea and abruptly dropped, disappearing behind the machine and retrieving the wrench from the floor before popping back up with a broad and embarrassed grin, laughing awkwardly as he shrugged with the tool held loosely in his hand.  “There it is.  Got under the dryer somehow.  Funny, that.  Tricky rascal.”  The high-pitched laugh at least stilled his tongue for a moment.  “Got ‘er spiffed up right, at any rate.  See?”

He turned the knob.  The machine worked smoothly, but still felt suddenly too loud for Satya all the same.  It felt like the addition of the sound to the room only further frayed her nerves.

Brigitte, for her part, offered a not unkind raising of her eyebrow.  “Mm.”  The woman cast a glance toward Satya that she pointedly avoided returning as the room filled with an exceedingly awkward silence, finally filled by her voice.  “… I could… go…”

A glance toward Jamison showed a pink hue blazing across his cheeks.  She could feel the heat on her own.  Her response came almost automatically, directed toward the room as a whole.

“I should be getting back to Angela.”

In the remaining moment she watched Jamison before looking away she caught his blink, paired with an expression pointed toward her that she couldn’t decipher aside from surprise.  She wasn’t sure what for and didn’t have the capacity to concern herself with it.  Not at the time being, at least.  His voice drifted past her even as she was picking out careful steps toward the door.

“Er… yeah.  We got lots to do still, right?”

Brigitte stood there for a little while longer looking between the two as they looked at each other before deciding neither of them were going to be dissuaded even if she objected.  Satya thought she could hear the woman sigh.

“Alright.  Winston still wanted us to look into the venthilation system.”

Satya was grateful to be so clearly dismissed.  She didn’t spare either of them a look as she moved in absolute silence out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Satya didn’t see Jamison later that night.  The next day on the mission he seemed less… _vibrant_ than usual in a way that she had trouble pinning down, almost lethargic, though she thought perhaps it was in part the nature of the mission itself.  A guard job didn’t do much to bring out his inner fire and she found herself, also, without any particular passion for it. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if her abruptly fleeing him had had anything to do with it.  In retrospect it seemed a bit… blunt.  Offensive.

But everything went without trouble and when they got back to base and settled in for dinner he didn’t show even though Roadhog did, and he wasn’t in either the training yard or the workshop and so she went to bed feeling puzzled and, frankly, slightly rejected, particularly after the frankly excessive effort he had gone through to spend time with her before.  The next day was no better.  They were moving valuable scientific equipment for a private corporation and Jamison didn’t even go on the mission with them.  She knew it wasn’t one he would have enjoyed much either, but he also didn’t tend to enjoy sitting around the base and seemed to relish opportunities to get out.

She spotted him once through the workshop window speaking with Winston, but the conversation seemed to be intense and he looked oddly tired—she could see him attempting a smile or two in the short time she looked into the room and it seemed as though their conversation was going well enough that she most certainly didn’t want to interrupt. 

It became a pattern, albeit only over the course of a few days—Jamison seemingly working through an odd haze and distracted on their missions but able at least to function, and yet disappearing once back on base.

No one else, including Roadhog, seemed particularly concerned.  It bothered her.  Deeply.  And if she were being honest, not only for an interest in his health.

If she wanted to spare herself further torment there seemed like little else to do but talk to someone.  She suspected anyone would do, technically.  But some might be far less awkward than others, and potentially more helpful.  Angela seemed like the most reasonable choice, and she wondered if, perhaps, part of that perception was her position as their physician—even if it wasn’t a medical matter she had no doubt Angela would treat such conversations almost as if they were private consultations.

If nothing else it seemed worth a try.

The woman wasn’t in the medical bay so Satya went looking and as chance would have it she found Angela in the corridor outside the dining room, headed toward the kitchen, unaware of her presence.  Naturally, she followed, and it wasn’t until her foot was in the door and Angela was turning to look at her that she realized she had no good excuse to be there.  It wasn’t necessary, but it would have been a comfort to have one thought up.  Her tongue froze for a moment before she dislodged it and managed casual-sounding words.

“Hello, Angela.”

The other woman blinked, looking up from the pitcher in her hand and immediately.  “Satya.”  The greeting came with a bright, calming smile as she finished pouring her coffee, taking the mug in hand and leaning back against the counter to give Satya her full attention.  “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Satya tried to find innocuous words.  Something not too revealing. 

It took her a moment too long to realize that Angela was looking at her expectantly.  There was a slowly-building, slightly uneasy silence that she moved to salvage too-quickly, taking the opportunity while she had it, trying to bring it up organically and, she suspected, failing.  It felt far too abrupt, like it was obvious that it had been on her mind, something only magnified by the fact that it stumbled out of her in the middle of a sentence she hadn’t at all expected Angela to offer.

“Was there anything you—”

“Do you think Jamison’s been acting strangely?”

The interruption was entirely unintentional.  It did nothing to make it less embarrassing.  Satya was left with her lips tightly closed and a look of shock on her face, the heat of embarrassment growing on her cheeks as Angela tipped her head slightly to the side, a look of surprise on her features that Satya only rarely saw.  It was kind of her not to dwell on it.

“How so?”

Satya dropped her gaze to the floor, preferring it as she tried to gather herself and proceeding with a measured, calmer breath.  “He’s been missing meals.”  She realized, suddenly, that it in itself wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary and she frowned gently to herself before continuing more hesitantly, for some inexplicable reason not wanting to be too revealing but fairly certain it couldn’t be avoided.  She winced with it.  “And has been more… secluded.”  She didn’t want to mention how drastically un-energetic he had seemed, as if the observation itself was far too telling.  But worry kept her tongue moving when it would have been wiser for her to stop.  “I think he might be sleeping more than usual, but I’m not certain.  Although I suppose that might be a good thing.”

It wasn’t necessarily strange for him to miss meals, but she’d been seeing less of him in general, and even with the success in Sydney and how well he’d done rejoining the team she couldn’t help but be concerned.  Concerned, especially, that she had been misreading the situation.  That she had made a mistake, somehow.  But Angela’s voice held no concern whatsoever, only understanding.

“Ah, I see.”  When Satya lifted her eyes back to Angela she was watching her with a mild but sage expression.  “That’s likely the radiation treatment.”  The woman pursed her lips together thoughtfully for a moment but ultimately raised her shoulders in a careful shrug.  “I don’t think he wanted me to say anything about it to anyone, although he didn’t explicitly _say_ …”

Somehow Satya had forgotten entirely.  “Oh.”  She puzzled over it for a second, trying to recall what little she knew of it in the first place and found it wasn’t much at all.  “I didn’t think…”  She paused, shaking her head lightly.  What she had thought didn’t matter.  “Should we be worried?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”  The other woman’s smile had grown to something pleasant and reassuring.  “The side effects aren’t usually so severe, but we have to do some recovery after Junkertown and I wanted to fast-track him, so it’s a bit worse than usual.  I estimate it should only take about a week for us to be back to his normal levels.  Unfortunately he inhaled quite a bit of dust.  It’s a particularly bad carrier.”

Things were suddenly thrown into context in a way that made Satya abruptly realized she hadn’t fully grasped the significance of it before.  The car chase.  The bandana, the one he had given to her.  The medicine, as well.  Satya tried to gather her thoughts as she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear and said nothing.  Her eyes lifted back to Angela when she spoke again, patiently and matter-of-factly and without, it seemed, any suggestion.  Satya was grateful for that.

Angela’s fingers wrapped more closely around the mug between them as she paused, giving Satya a close look as she considered.  Within a moment her eyebrows raised gently and her tone shifted to something more overtly helpful.  “We actually just finished a treatment a short while ago.”  The other woman had lowered her eyes and begun casually stirring her coffee.  “I’d imagine he’s likely in his room recuperating.”

It took nothing at all for Satya’s mind to seize on the new information and take off of its own accord, weighing her options, and with it came a sudden, strange sense of urgency with the revelation that sent her to distraction.

“Would you like any coffee?”

The words pulled her from her preoccupation.  Satya had no idea, really, how long she had been silent, and though there was a minute tug of embarrassment it couldn’t fully take hold and she muttered distantly.  “No, thank you.  I have things I should attend to.”

Despite her lack of attention Angela offered her a pleasant smile and farewell.  “Alright.  Let me know if you need anything else.”

Her retreat was hasty.  She very suddenly had a purpose, and while she wasn’t entirely sure what it might be it demanded resolution.

 

* * *

 

 It took her virtually no time at all to reach Jamison’s door and she didn’t hesitate before pressing the buzzer at the side of it.  She could hear the pleasant tone of it faintly from outside and waited, listening carefully to the unpromising silence inside.  It settled quickly and left her standing there, staring hard at the blank surface of the door as if it might somehow help her better hear any noise from inside.  For a moment she felt almost offended.  Impatience and stubbornness won.  She pressed the buzzer again and allowed herself the benefit of pressing her ear against the door.  There was something there in the otherwise silence, she was certain of it.  A shuffling, a thump.  And then returning quiet.

She pressed the buzzer once again with a careful, curious squint of concentration.

The response was immediate.  A muffled voice erupted from inside, indistinct for a moment before it was suddenly perfectly audible, enough that she could hear the irritation in it without even needing her ear on the door.

“ _Christ,_ a’right, hang on…”

It was only after he responded that she realized determination may have overridden her sense of courtesy.  She wasn’t sure if it would have stopped her anyway.  Worse, she found it difficult, for some reason, to pull her hand from the buzzer as she followed the various thuds and shuffles as the sounds approached the door.

She wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it but her finger hesitated, hovered over the buzzer before it pressed delicately against it again and the sound of it was almost entirely overwhelmed by his clearly agitated voice, loud enough to indicate he was nearly at the door.

“Fuckin’ _‘ell_ mate, can ya give me half a bloody second?” 

Satya withdrew her hand quickly and pressed it to her lips as she pulled away from the door, holding back a laugh and attempting to quash the strange surprise with herself.  She had very little time to recover or sort out her thoughts.  The door whisked open abruptly and Jamison was there, standing with his left hand against the wall, his prosthetic arm dangling limply, and his chest rising and falling as if he were slightly out of breath.  He looked groggy and a bit off-balance, his hair in wild disarray as he looked at her with rapidly widening eyes, clearly taken more than a bit off guard. 

“… oh.”

He was in sweatpants and—impossible not to notice as she lowered her eyes further—was missing the prosthetic leg.  It explained why he was out of breath, she supposed.  He was quick to try to find his feet, as it were, with a broad and determined grin, and while he was a bit more pale than usual his voice was light and familiar all the same.

“ _Well_.  G’day.  What brings you to me humble abode?” 

She could see into the room behind him and despite the darkness she could tell it was a mess.  It was dirty again, cluttered with mine casings and partially-completed projects that likely belonged in the workshop.  Things that, she suddenly thought, perhaps he tinkered with when he couldn’t sleep.  The odd curtain slung over the window, ever-present.

His mood, at least, seemed more like his typical self.  It was enough for her to smile despite the pallor of his skin and she couldn’t quite subdue the compulsion to toy with him, adopting a teasing tone.

“You’ve been difficult to find lately.”  She raised an eyebrow in a high arch.  “I thought I would stop by.”

There was another laugh, louder but just as relaxed as the first and it was a relief to hear it even if the words that followed did bring a wry smile to her face.   “Couldn’t stay away, eh?  Can’t blame ya.  I am pretty irresistible.” 

Her lips curled in a faint smile as she took him in more closely, letting it go a bit too long and unwittingly prompting him to fill the silence.

“Sorry, love.  Just been feelin’ a bit under the weather.”

“Are you alright?”

His smile widened and seemed perfectly genuine.  “Yeah, I’m ‘right.  No worries.”

It may have possibly been a little too suggestive.  “Nothing I should worry about catching, I hope.” 

“Nah, nothin’ like that.” 

She would have thought her searching tone might be too obvious, but he didn’t really respond ot it.  The line of questioning, however, seemed to make him slightly nervous, but stubborn as well.  It was clear he was doubling down.

Her expression turned sly and inquisitive.  It didn’t seem he was going to admit the reason for it and she couldn’t fathom why.  The fact puzzled her, still. 

But there was little need to press, although she wanted to.  She wanted him to admit it, for some reason.  Perhaps she wanted him to know that she knew.  Maybe it was better not, if that was what he preferred.  Instead she sidled closer, her eyes lowered to his left hand.  She took it idly in hers, pressing gently on the spaces between his knuckles and the pads of his palm, merely exploring, and he lifted it just slightly, holding it leisurely in her grip to better accommodate her prodding.  Her voice was low and hesitant with contemplation.

“That’s good to hear.”  Suddenly realizing the idle activity of her hands she let go and there was an awkward pause as they were left staring at each other.  Perhaps the direct route was best.  She curled a lock of hair behind her ear regardless, her eyes skipping away.  “I would like to spend time with you.”  The tone was earnest and very serious, and she was surprised at herself at the depth of it and also a little embarrassed at yet how stiff it had sounded.

She could hear the surprise, the eagerness, in his voice regardless, endearing and bright.  It was also unexpected; almost hurtful in a way that felt utterly contradictory.   He didn’t answer quickly enough either for her liking or to distract her from the odd feeling.  She continued, in no small part to distract herself from it.

“… if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Yeah!  Yeah.  Er… what’d ya…”  He trailed off, lost for a second, staring blatantly and blankly at her.  It was interrupted by his eyes darting briskly to the side before snapping back to her.  “What… what were you wantin’ to do…?”

She didn’t quite understand the tone, the hesitance.  She hadn’t had much time, actually, to come up with anything.  In her haste to get there she’d been so preoccupied with finding and confronting him that she hadn’t thought any further ahead and formulated any kind of plan.  Her mind moved through a few possibilities rapidly and discarded a few immediately.  It would need to be something that required little activity, certainly.

“A movie, perhaps?”

“Sure.”  He scratched at his chin, curling his hand around it and his voice was both thoughtful and uncertain.  “It a’right if I meet you in the rec room?  Got a couple of quick things to take care of.  Just a few minutes.”

The deal was immensely pleasing but she realized suddenly she hadn’t had the time to consider what to watch, so his suggestion was welcome and she seized on it.

“Certainly.”

 

* * *

 

Satya had begun to think she may have underestimated what a challenge it might be.

At the time simply watching a film had seemed like a wise choice.  It would require very little from either of them, although the option for conversation would be there.  But there were subtler things she had failed to consider until she thought more strongly on it.  There were so many options.  And what might he enjoy?  And on a similar note, she didn’t want to choose something she would loathe sitting through. 

The thought occurred to her that perhaps it should be something… meaningful.  She immediately shook that particular thought away.  Something more casual— _trivial_ —would be preferred.

At any rate the weight of it was unexpected and felt ridiculous; it was a film and nothing more.  Completely inexplicably, she was failing to convince herself of the fact.  She supposed they had never had anything that could really be considered a ‘date’, no matter how restricted they were in their options of location.  She had had very few in general, actually.  Somehow, despite everything, it seemed far more intimate than she expected.

With the minutes passing she felt as if she were running out of time.  She tried to ignore the flustered feeling welling up in her chest and breathed, annoyed with herself.  It was inconsequential.

She flipped through the catalogue with her finger, tapping across the screen of the tablet in her hands.  It was a veritable compendium and that in itself was, frankly, overwhelming.  The thought of taking a risk with something she was unfamiliar with caused her to wrinkle her nose with displeasure; there were too many unknowns.  She opted to settle with something she knew in order to prevent further fraying of her nerves.  Something that made her feel most comfortable: Indian films.

She wasn’t always fond of the dramas.  They could be full of so much pointless struggle.  But there was beauty in all of them, in one form or another, even if it was only for the simple reminder of the best parts of home.  The music.  The dancing.  Her mother’s _mojari_ leaving behind patterns on the floor.

There were classics, there, more than she could even keep track of.  Her eyes skipped over them quickly as she considered, marking some for later: _Salaam Namaste_ drew an amused scoff from her.  Her fingers hovered over _Nenu Local_ , a fact she found curious, and she stared at the title for a moment longer before moving on.

She settled on one, still uncertain.  A drama set during the Omnic War, _Reṇḍu Mariyu Reṇḍu_.  Despite the subject material it was an old favorite, although nothing too closely connected to her heart.  There was romance in it—there very nearly always was—but there wasn’t so much interpersonal conflict and it wasn’t the main focus.  The finality of pressing her finger down on the screen was a surprising relief. 

She could hear him as he came down the hallway, as expected, though the sound of his footsteps seemed to scuff a bit more than usual.  His appearance in the door proved that the peg-leg had returned, thankfully.  He had shaved, if not washed, and by all appearances had at the very least combed his hair.  She pressed her lips gently together but they curled upwards all the same and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a strange surge of self-consciousness.  Teasing seemed like a reasonable distraction.

“I wasn’t certain you’d make it.”

The laugh was high and amused, but his voice dropped low at the end of it.  “You kiddin’?  I ain’t that easy to keep down.” 

Perhaps it was the residual nerves but she was lost in looking at him for a second before dropping her attention to the tablet in her lap.  “I hope you don’t mind that I chose.”

“S’alright, love.  Probably for the best.  I got what you might call a… er.  Limited repertoire.”  He had started his way toward the couch, rounding the table in front of it.  Another sidelong glance not intended to be noticed revealed the curve to his shoulders, nothing terribly dramatic but something that suggested residual exhaustion all the same.  It disappeared in his second of hesitation, staring at the couch for a reason she couldn’t determine.  It broke when he shrugged, features breaking into a grin, and flopped carelessly into the spot beside her with enough force that it made her cushion bounce.  He seemed inordinately pleased with it and she watched him, both amused and curious as he went on.

“Didn’t have a lotta films in the Outback, or at least not after the Omnium went up.”  He shuffled slightly to better settle himself before turning his attention to her, clearly attempting to make the comment sound as innocent as possible, as though it hadn’t been related to a global crime spree.  “… not a lotta time to watch ‘em after.” 

It was familiar, the way he was suddenly distracted, lost in thought.  As if revisiting the statement and trying to make sure it was true, his features trapped in a long, concentrated squint, searching his memory.  But he popped out of it abruptly and without warning, expression back to something bright and attentive.

“What’re we watchin’?”

She breathed with the suspicion that she had stopped for a moment but he didn’t seem to notice that she had been preoccupied.  She took advantage of it, slipping easily back into casual conversation.  “A Hindi movie.  It is called _Reṇḍu Mariyu Reṇḍu_.  Set during the Omnic War.”

She heard the disgruntled sound from him almost before she had finished the sentence—immediately after she had said ‘omnic’.  She hadn’t even thought… it seemed too late to change her mind.  She had chosen it for the music, for the characters.  She had realized her mistake far too late.  The title page had already begun to roll and she paused it quickly with the ridiculous hope that perhaps it could turn back time and she could reconsider the choice.  Her voice was a bit softer than she would have liked.

“Perhaps we should watch something else…”

Maybe it was prompted by her tone, although it was hard to say.  He breathed, audibly, and chased after with a casual, huffed laugh that was no doubt meant to be encouraging.  “Nah, love.  No worries.” 

It was not at all convincing.  She took the risk of glancing toward him.  Despite the tone of his voice he was clearly troubled, his jaw askew, set at an odd angle that made him look both tense and just as uncertain as she felt.  But it felt as though she had so few options and, in honesty, she didn’t have the energy to choose a different course.  There seemed little else to do but press on.  She turned her attention back to the screen, unpausing and settling in.

It was easy, really, to relax—the familiarity of the language itself did wonders, the song and dance even moreso, but even so curiosity demanded periodic glances towards him and she was surprised to find him seemingly engaged, and his expression was almost surprised as well, pleasantly so, his head cocked to the side, his eyes focused, and during the beginning before the fighting as well, before any omnic violence.  During the lighter parts.  It was… unexpected.  She had thought he might have trouble following.  It didn’t seem to be the case.

Despite the earlier awkwardness and discomfort she found herself with a faint smile.  Satisfied, she allowed her full attention to return to the film and shortly she became absorbed despite herself.  There were calming elements in it, the songs especially, and even the war itself was alluded to more often than explicit.  It was a long film, far longer than she had remembered, but it was easy for her to be swept up in it.

She had been paying little attention to anything but the movie until a sound came to her, something she failed to notice at first.

“Sa-tya, Sa-tya, Sa-tya…”  It was a barely-audible, sing-song murmur to the tune of the music coming over the speakers.

When she turned she was surprised to find him looking at her, although she wasn’t entirely certain he was seeing her.  His eyes were nearly closed, the expression on his face dreamy and relaxed, and she turned her body more fully to consider him, speaking in a lilting, gently chiding tone and not quite managing to keep the amusement out of it.

“Are you falling asleep, Jamison?”

He blinked slowly but had clearly heard her and his lips curled indulgently over the words as he said them.  “With you sittin’ next to me?  Couldn’t if I tried.”

It pulled a quiet chuckle from her and it took her a moment to recognize the gentle pull of her hair, his finger coiling the strands lazily around it.  Somehow she had missed the way his arm had slung over the back of the couch, resting above her shoulders without touching her but hovering near enough to the edge that it had clearly required some effort to keep it from brushing against her skin.  She wasn’t certain of the reason for the restraint, and while she’d been unaware of it mere seconds ago she found herself a little disappointed she’d been missing the warmth and oddly curious as to how it would have felt.

During her distraction his body had leaned more closely toward her, although she sincerely wasn’t certain if it was intentional or not.  His nose nestled into the space behind her ear, his breath just warm enough to feel, muted through the strands of her hair.  His eyes had slowly slipped closed and he didn’t follow as she turned her body a slight angle away to better look at him.  She allowed herself to search his face and take in the details while she was free to do so before shifting closer, just close enough that her leg came to rest lightly against his own.  She had no good excuse to do so but it didn’t matter.

His protest had been absolutely ridiculous.  She watched him closely, her voice low and sly.  “Tell me, then, what’s been happening.”

He blinked blearily, trying, it seemed, to return to the waking world, and lifted his head to look back to the screen as if it might help him.  “… errr…”  She could see the wheels turning.  She didn’t bother to look at film, the dialogue fading into the background, preferring to watch him instead. 

“Well y’see, that bloke there, he uh…”  He attempted a squint but only managed to open one eye to do it, his lips set in a firm line with thought and effort.  “He’s a rogue agent or somethin’.  An’ that sheila, she’s a legitimate government type.  Workin’ above board, yeah?”

It was true so far, and that in itself was satisfying.  She offered him a confirming ‘Mm’, a gentle prompt for him to go on.

There was a long pause during which he was clearly thinking, sifting tiredly through his memory, eyes squinting at the screen where the music still played.  She could see the moment he gave up—or perhaps more accurately when his mind seized on an idea he liked; it was obvious in the grin that curled his lips, burst across his features, no doubt meant to be self-satisfied, made lazy by his exhaustion but no less cheerful.

“Anyway, they went on doin’ their whole thing, fightin’ off the bots, but the thing is, she kissed ‘im.”  He raised his eyebrows above closed eyes, head nodding in idle agreement with himself.  “That mixed ‘im up real good.  Got ‘im in heaps ‘a trouble.”  A barely-perceptible shrug rolled over his shoulders as he wrapped it carelessly up.  “And now they’re dancin’ and singin’ about somethin’.”

Satya watched his expression with careful attention and allowed a moment or two after he finished— _required_ a moment or two, rather, to stall her growing smile.  It was charming.  Frustratingly so.  "Are you certain about all of that?”

He nodded sagely.  “Yeah.  For deffo.”  His own lips cracked into a small, crooked grin.  “Good story, I reckon.”

Her body had crept subtly closer to him, her side nestled into his without her so much as noticing until his arm shifted seemingly of its own weight and settled lightly across her shoulders.  Her eyes lingered on it before returning to him.

“Perhaps that’s enough for tonight.”

His lips immediately adopted a pout that was made all the more absurd by the fact that his eyes were still closed.  “But I’m watchin’ the movie…”

She stifled a low chuckle with a sardonic turn of her lips.  “Another time, when you’re not losing consciousness.”

“I _ain’t_.”

“You _are_.”

“Fine, a’right, maybe I am.”  His chest rose and fell, a troubled look briefly flitting across his face.  “Didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine, truly.” ~~~~

Relief thawed his expression into a lazy, wide grin.  Suddenly adopting the idea a bit too enthusiastically, his body pulled away from her as he tipped to the side and fell over dramatically on the couch, bent awkwardly at the waist, back against the cushioned surface.  “Well, if I’m asleep I’m asleep.”

A helpless chuckle of disbelief/inredulous bubbled from her, her body shifting to lean over him, hands pressed to either side of his torso.  His hands had curled in loose fists over his chest and a high, reedy giggle escaped him, his voice coy and mock-innocent.  

“Can’t even keep me eyes open…”  The grin had turned cheshire.  “It’d sure be a shame if somebody took advantage.”

It was less a laugh and more an incredulous breath of air paired with her smirk, and while she would have preferred her tone be daring it sounded far more amused than anything else.  “What exactly are you implying, Jamie?”

He raised his eyebrows suggestively without so much as opening his eyes, the grin growing only more crooked as an air laugh escaped.  “Whatever ya want me to be implyin’.”

His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and calm, and she stared at him.  It seemed as good a time as any, and perhaps her last chance before he went entirely unresponsive. 

She spoke instead, hesitantly.  “I know why you’ve been feeling unwell.”

His brow furrowed in a weakly displeased pout that let her know, at the very least, that he had heard her.  He didn’t manage to find any words in protest but even so it was clear he didn’t approve of the topic.

“Mnf.”

She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to press harder, and at the very least it might satisfy her need for validation.  “The radiation treatments.”

Somehow he managed to look even more disapproving.  Petulant, his features pinched as he mumbled out the words.  “Nah.  Just nackered.”

Satya’s eyebrows raised in a tall arc as she offered a skeptical ‘Mm’ of her own and gave into gravity, her body draping over his, settling her arm against his chest, bent at the elbow, and propping her chin on a closed fist as she decided to mildly put the final nail in the coffin.  “Angela told me.”

His nose wrinkled and his voice sounded a little more awake with the irritated mutter.  “Bloody ‘doctor-patient confidentiality’ my arse…”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

He fell silent.  She let it settle in the air, her head tipping to the side as she watched him.  Were it not for the way his lips pursed together she might think he actually had fallen asleep, but as it was she suspected he was trying to find the right words.  Or perhaps a reasonable excuse.

“Guess I didn’t see the reason to worry ya.”

It was… odd.  Touching, the idea that he was attempting to spare her concern.  Perhaps something else, though.  _Guilt_ , her mind suggested.  In retrospect her treatment of him in Australia had seemed somewhat poor, or at least at some points upon remembering it it had felt that way, still uncertain if she had been a bit too harsh with him.  She couldn’t be sure if that was one of his goals—to spare her from it—but her thoughts lingered over it all the same.  But she supposed that was something to mull over later.  Something simpler would suffice for the time being, no matter how quietly she uttered it. 

“I would prefer that you did.” 

He offered no response but a deeper exhalation, his features gradually beginning to relax in the quiet.  She had accomplished what she intended.  There was no need to say anything further, but it was comfortable there, warm, and much less intimidating with his eyes closed, not to mention his questionable consciousness.

Her voice was little more than a murmur.

“You have no right to be so thoughtful.”  She paused, waiting, but the lack of reaction was encouraging and she continued on thoughtfully, musing over the words.  “It’s very… disruptive.”

He was silent.  She suspected he was already asleep, or nearly there.

It was simple enough to lift her chin, freeing both hands to do as they pleased.  The gauntlet rested against his chest, supporting her weight as the fingers of her right hand reached farther to carefully and futilely arranged a few stray hairs atop his head.  The thought only occurred to her a moment after of what an interruption might mean.  What it might look like.  But she was far too reluctant to pull away and it was far easier to discard the thought than she would have imagined.  It was gone in an instant.

Her voice was quiet—nearly silent—and deeply introspective.  “I suppose disruption isn’t always so terrible, though.”

When her hand alighted on the curve of his jaw a quiet noise escaped him, his head turning ever so slightly into the touch, and it was more difficult not to smile than it was worth.

There didn’t seem as if there would be much harm in it, and if she would have to abandon him shortly it seemed only fair to take it while she had the chance; she leaned over him, tucking her hair behind her ear, and pressed a light kiss against his lips.

When she pulled away there was a slow change in his expression, a languid, self-satisfied smile that was lopsided, as if he could only muster the energy to prop up one corner of his lips but it betrayed sharp teeth and the faint glint of gold regardless.  He cracked one eye open and managed to focus it on her with the words.

“Fell right into me trap, love.”

She had intended to get off of him.  The surprise of it kept her in place, accompanied by an indignance that was strange—it seemed to be based only on principle and was laced through with amusement.  She made an attempt, at least, to look irritated but suspected that she failed, and he took advantage of her speechlessness.

“All part of me master plan.”

That, at least, she had an answer for.  Her voice radiated the idea that she was absolutely unimpressed, and upon some unexpected compulsion she prodded a finger against the tip of his nose with it as some kind of retribution.

“Mm.  You’re positively Machiavellian.”

It was small satisfaction that he wrinkled his nose in response but he seemed distracted, offering her a tired, puzzled blink.  “Macca-whatsit?  You talkin’ about Maccas?”

She wasn’t at all sure what it meant; it warranted a not displeased but somewhat uncomprehending breath of air and she placed the palm of the gauntlet on his chest to press herself upward and away, brushing her hair carefully over her shoulder with the clear intent to separate herself fully.  It seemed to be disagreeable to him.  His body shifted mostly futilely under her, a wordless grumble escaping as he made a weak attempt to shuffle upward and then flopped back onto the cushions with what sounded like an irritated sigh.  The thought occurred to her that perhaps he was attempting to dislodge himself and she lifted the gauntleted hand away, feeling puzzled but also oddly slighted.  The feeling dissipated when he spoke.

“Seems like I’m always gettin’ you close when I’m useless.”  It was mumbled with an accompanying pout that did not seem at all exaggerated, and he was doing his best to keep his eyes on her, however much he had to squint and alternate between one eye and the other.  With the failure of trying to sit up he changed tactics, his left hand plucking idly at the hem of her clothing before settling without what had begun to seem like a characteristic sort of hesitation on her leg, his palm warm against her skin.  Potentially he was emboldened by his exhaustion.  Potentially it had lowered his inhibitions.  She wasn’t certain if she thought either were true, and she was caught up in the thought when he went on, apparently deciding it needed clarification.

“Specifically—”  He had begun to trace small patterns on her skin with his fingers in an idle way that suggested he might not be fully aware of it and she could feel a slow tension beginning to build at the small of her back, her spine straightening as she watched him.  “—on top ‘a me.”

No matter how accurate it was, between the light touches and the words themselves it was explicit all the same and she busied herself with her hair, her eyes still on him but wider, her fingers weaving the beginnings of a pointless braid to keep themselves occupied, her legs still curled under her, perched on top of his own.

She didn’t have a good answer in the first place, or at least, not initially.  With a little further thought she realized some good might still come of the faint heat she could feel on her cheeks.  Despite the fact that he was no longer looking at her she raised an eyebrow carefully with the suggestion.  “Perhaps this can be incentive to stop injuring yourself.  In one way or another.”

His eyes closed more tightly under eyebrows knitted in some negative emotion she wasn’t certain of.  Displeasure of some sort, although she wasn’t sure where it was directed.  He appeared to be thinking if the pause was any indication and after a moment his eyebrows raised in what seemed like his best approximation of a shrug.

“No option, love.”

If asked she wouldn’t have been able to explain the meaning.  But her heart beat a bit faster all the same, hard enough that it made attempting to break it down all the more impossible and her hands stalled in her hair against the subtle wave of adrenaline that moved through her limbs.  She was beyond grateful that his eyes were closed and that, in fact, he appeared finally to be truly faling asleep.  She intended to move off of him but found herself stalling, her voice quiet. 

“We should get you to bed.”

That elicited a response.  He uttered a drawn-out, whining groan that grew louder as it went on and the sheer absurdity of it was enough to break whatever had frozen her in place.  She slipped off of him to her feet with care, unable to withhold a wry, amused sound.

He ended it all with a deep, exaggerated sigh, still not responding other than to speak.  “I’m guessin’ that means you ain’t comin’ with me.” 

“To your door at the very least.”  

The sulkiness in the mutter wasn’t lost on her.  “Guess I’ll take it.”

When he failed to immediately move she crossed her arms slowly over her chest, appraising him.  “I’m afraid I can’t carry you.  I doubt I could even move you.”

“You haven’t even tried yet.”

“You’re heavier than you look.  You’re nearly half metal.” 

“A’right, a’right.  Gimme a hand, yeah?”

It could easily have been a trick.  But she complied regardless, leaning closer and grasping the hand that was offered to her, fully expecting something unexpected as she gave him a delicate tug.  In a way, she received exactly what she had anticipated.

She missed how, exactly, he did it.  Some shift of his legs, no doubt, the angling of the prosthetic against the cushions, perhaps.  As she was occupied with his hand his body began to slink almost liquidly off of the couch and onto the floor where he landed with the softest of _thuds_ and a quiet, wheezing laugh that seemed to revitalize him a bit.

“See, love?”

Her silence likely betrayed that she wasn’t at all sure what he meant.  He pointed the grin upward toward her as he lay splayed partially over the couch and partially on the floor and managed to open both eyes long enough to offer her a wink.

“Seems like you don’t know your own strength.”

There was a pause as she looked at him.  It was a musing second or so that passed, full of thoughts that she might like to revisit at some later point when he wasn’t still on the floor, watching her, and at dire risk of falling asleep where he lay.  She smirked at him, the expression not as strong as she might have liked it to be, and offered her hand once again, speaking more firmly.

“Come on, unless you intend to sleep on the floor.”

It required little of her own effort.  He took her hand as given and got his feet under him, staggering upward.  For a moment he stood straight, taking the time to stretch his arms over his head and then to twist his head to either side, eliciting a series of quiet _pops_.

He didn’t seem to need the prompting.  There was no indication of it.  But she waited until he seemed ready and reached down to carefully slip her hand in his, standing in the quiet for a moment before deciding it would be better if she dedicated herself to the task of getting him to bed.  The thought was interrupted by his tired but cheerful voice as she began pulling him toward the door, the scuff of the prosthetic leg making it clear that he was following obediently after.

“We’ll finish watchin’ it later?”

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

It should have been easy to sleep.  The hour in combination with the familiar comfort of her bed and the quiet dark that enveloped her was typically a perfect recipe for it.

The evening hadn’t been remotely stressful, not once they had begun watching the film, but the distinct feeling that there was still so much to process lingered over her.  Things to mull over, to revisit, and some still left to decipher.

She had escorted him, shoved him into bed, and departed before she could have any second thoughts on it—not that it was much of a risk, given his condition.

She had taken her time in the retreat to her room, although it felt like less of a choice than a necessity.  Her feet had moved with unexpected reluctancy as though unwilling to put any form of distance between herself and the night’s events.  Her preparations for the evening had been similarly sluggish, although not unpleasantly so.  For a short while the world had felt as though it didn’t require her undivided attention.  It had allowed her mind to drift between perfect idleness and unhurried thought.

That strange balance had dissipated once she was alone. 

Once nestled between the pillows and atop the sheets the evening finally pulled into a soft focus.  It had been pleasant to be near him, certainly.  To close the space between them and share his warmth.  Most everything, really, had been satisfying—remarkably, strangely so, considering how uneventful it all had truly been.  But other things continued to pull insistently at her thoughts, specifically the odd moment that her heart had stuttered in a way that seemed utterly unexplainable. 

_No option, love._

The ceiling offered her no insight but her eyes remained on it all the same, her body feeling heavy and unwilling to move but comfortably so, under the spell of a deep calm.  She took a deeper breath and attempted to disentangle it.

It came to her slowly but with finality, the full understanding of the implications of it.  His condition was inextricably linked—no, not linked, but directly _because_ of—the actions he had taken in Australia.  Actions specifically chosen to spare her the condition he was in.  The other measures he had taken in attempt to ensure her safety and comfort to the best of his abilities.  Her mind settled on the thought.  Absorbed it.  For a short while the presence of it was all she was capable of holding.

Reality returned gradually with the hum of the ventilation system and a deep breath.  She became mindful of her body once again and with it came the awareness of an unfamiliar sensation; her fingers ached for something to hold, a strange desire to clutch something to her chest.

She laid still, not without effort.  Somehow she knew anything she could grasp would ultimately be unsatisfying, but as the time continued to pass she realized it was a sensation that demanded some form of concession or it would hold her hostage and without sleep until she surrendered.

Her hands grasped in the darkness for the silhouette of the pillow beside her and she curled on her side as she pulled it toward herself, reveling, at least, in the relative solidity of it.  It was a small comfort, an insufficient presence but a presence all the same and she held it closer as she pressed her forehead into the soft form and drew in a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh.

It helped.  The scant relief drained what little tension was left in her body.  Sated, her mind freed her from whatever thoughts had still demanded her attention and she curled more closely into the soft shape between her arms, drifting off into a blissfully weightless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIKE CHILEAN MINERS EMERGING FROM THE DEPTHS...
> 
> Um so… hi. If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been please see [this post on the ol’ blog](http://nez-does-things.tumblr.com/post/164739994650/think-youll-ever-continue-make-it-real-i).
> 
> This chapter actually wasn’t supposed to end here for thematic reasons but frankly like… 32k for a chapter that wasn’t kind of a self-contained adventure seemed like a bit much. Then again the next chapter is already like 18k so god. Who knows.
> 
> Sorry if there are redundancies and/or under-or-over-explanations in this chapter. Or if it dragged. Or if some things were too vague. :/ I tried to find a balance but please bear with me… I’m a little out of practice.
> 
> There should be some uhhhhhhh let’s just call them payoffs in the next chapter
> 
> Also plot/general development. You’re probably gonna be angry at me for some of it tho
> 
> A song I think really suits Junkrat is [Paper Route – laugh about it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiYFKcIo5cw)
> 
> I have not found a song that I think satisfactorily works for Symmetra despite like. Looking so hard. :/ Someday.
> 
> Also there’s no way mcdonald’s wouldn’t still be around in 70 years either that shit ain’t goin away


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